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THE 

ART OF ELOCUTION, 

AS AN ESSENTIAL PART OF 

RHETORIC : 

WITH IETSTBTJCTIOlSrS IN GESTURE; 

AND AN APPENDIX OP 

ORATORICAL, POETICAL, AND DRAMATIC 
EXTRACTS. 



BY GEORGE VANDENHOFF. 



" Ego nee studium sine divite ven&, 
Nee rude quid possit video ingenium ; alterius sic 
Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice." Horace. 



LONDON: 

SAMPSON LOW AND SON, 47. LUDGATE • HILL. 
1861. 



,/3'f 



PREFACE. 



The system of Elocution laid down in this 
work, is one which the Author has found suc- 
cessful in his own practice, with a large number 
of pupils ; it has also the advantage of tne ap- 
proval of several professors of Elocution, and 
others interested in the art; which circumstances 
have induced him to publish it, with the hope 
that it will, at least, be found simple, easy of 
comprehension, and of assistance to teacher as 
well as pupil. 

London, May 1. 1855* 



AM OF ELOCUTION, 



INTRODUCTION. 

The value of Elocution; particularly to the Orator — Elo- 
cution a necessary part of Oratory — "Can Elocution be 
taught?" — Answer to the Eight Eeverend Dr. Whately's 
(Archbishop of Dublin) objections to a System of Elocu- 
tion — the arguments in his Elements of Rhetoric combated 
by his arguments in his Elements of Logic — Advice to the 
Student. 

Elocution, as its derivation (eloquor) indicates, is 
the art of speaking, or delivering language ; and it 
embraces every principle and constituent of utter- 
ance, from the articulation of the simplest element- 
ary sounds of language, up to the highest expression 
of which the human voice is capable in speech. 

It has for object to give clearness and force to 
the meaning of what may be spoken, and full ex- 
pression to the feelings under which it may be 
spoken. Perspicuity and energy are as essential 
to Elocution as they are to Rhetoric; of which 
Elocution is a part. For " in its primary signifi- 
cation Rhetoric had reference to public speaking 
alone, as its etymology implies." * Elocution there- 
fore is a most essential element of Rhetoric. 

* Whately's Elements of Rhetoric — Introduction. 
B 



2 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

Of the importance, if not the necessity, of such 
an art to a perfect system of education, one would 
think thsre coald not be two opinions We must 
all speak; it must therefore be desirable to speak 
with propriety and force ; as much so as regards 
the utterance of our language as its grammatical 
accuracy. And though any language, however 
meagre and however mean, and any utterance, 
however imperfect and inelegant, so that it be 
barely intelligible, may be sufficient for the com- 
monest purposes of speech, yet something more 
refined is surely necessary even to the ordinary 
conversation of the gentleman and the man of 
education. 

Most of us are called upon occasionally in public, 
even though we may not belong to any of the 
learned professions, to express our opinions, to state 
our views, to offer our advice, or to justify some 
course we may have pursued in relation to affairs 
in which others besides ourselves are interested ; and 
on such occasions the advantage of a natural, ele- 
gant, and easy delivery cannot but have its effect 
in securing the ready attention and favour of the 
audience. Let me add, that a good Elocution will 
make itself felt in the reading aloud of even a 
paragraph from a newspaper; and will lend a 
charm to the tone of voice, and a polished ease to 
the common utterance of the man who has culti- 
vated the art merely as a gentlemanly accom- 
plishment. 

But to him who desires to make a figure in the 
Pulpit, in the Senate, or at the Bar, a good delivery, 



INTRODUCTION. 3 

a nervous and elegant style of Elocution, are as 
essential, almost, as force of argument and grace of 
language. How many a good story is marred in 
the telling : how many a good sermon is lost in the 
preaching : how many a good speech, excellent in 
matter, argument, arrangement, language, falls list- 
less on the ear, from the apathetic, inelegant, and 
powerless manner of the speaker! Elocution is 
indeed a part of oratory essential to its 'perfection. 
He who would touch the heart, " and wield at will 
the fierce democracie," must have 

" wit, and words, and worth, 

Action and utterance, and the power of speech. 
To stir men's blood !" 

And how is this power and grace of delivery to 
be acquired ? — for acquired it must be — it is born 
with no man : it is indeed to this part of oratory 
that the saying " orator jit" is peculiarly applicable. 
It is an art ; and is to be attained by rule, by train- 
ing and discipline, by constant and well regulated 
exercise, by using the mental faculties to a quick 
power of analysis of thought, and by the cultivation 
of the ear and vocal organs for a ready appreciation 
and execution of tone. 

Let me here take the opportunity of answering 
the objections of those who are in the habit of 
promulgating the opinion, that Elocution cannot be 
taught — that is, that it is not an art ; for to deny 
that it admits of rules, and principles, is to deny it 

b 2 



4 ART OF ELOCUTION* 

the place of an art. The name of the Right Rev. 
Di\Whately, Archbishop of Dublin, is the greatest 
that I find among the list of these objectors; and 
in answering his objections to all or any System of 
Elocution, I shall be able, I think, to dispose of the 
whole question — " Can Elocution be taught?" 

Dr. Whately, in his Elements of Rhetoric 
(Part IV. c. 2.), while he admits, and indeed insists 
on the importance of a good Elocution, emphatically 
protests against any system for its attainment ; his 
own directions being that every person should read 
and speak in a natural manner; and he says (§3. 
p. 356,), " that in reading the Bible, for example, 
or anything which is not intended to appear as his 
own composition, it is desirable that he should 
deliver it as if he were reporting another's senti- 
ments, which were both fully understood and felt 
in all their force by the reporter." Admitted : this 
is one of the objects of Elocution : and how is it to 
be attained?- He tells us — "the only way to do 
this effectually, with such modulations of voice, fyc. 
as are suitable to each word and passage, is to fix 
the mind earnestly on the meaning, and leave nature 
and habit to suggest the utterance :" and for this 
plan " he lays claim to some originality of his own" 
(Part IV. c. i. § 1.), though he says (c. ii. § 2.) that 
" it is not enough that the reader should himself 
actually understand a composition ; it is possible, 
notwithstanding, to read it as if he did not ; and, in 
the same manner, it is not sufficient that he should 
himself feel and be impressed with the force of what 
he utters ; he may, notwithstanding, deliver it as if he 



INTRODUCTION. 5 

were unimpressed." Now, can anything be so vague 
and so contradictory as such directions as these ? 
" Don't use any system of Elocution ; it will give 
you a false style ; hut read and speak naturally, as 
if you understood and felt what you are reading 
and speaking ; nature and habit ivill show you how ; 
though, at the same time, hoivever clearly you may 
understand, and however deeply you may feel tvhat 
you are delivering, it is quite possible that you may, 
notwithstanding, deliver it with an utter absence of 
understanding and feeling '." 

And why? Clearly for the ivant of a system, 
which by rules and principles of art shall render 
such a contradiction next to impossible. 

The right reverend and learned Doctor (c. ii. 
§ 2.) lays it down that, " To the adoption of any 
such artificial scheme of Elocution — (that is, by a 
peculiar set of marks for denoting the pauses, em- 
phases, &c.) — there are three weighty objections:" 
and the reverend and learned logician states the 
objections to be, — 
" 1st. That the proposed system must necessarily 

be imperfect ; 
ic 2dly. That if it were perfect, it would be a cir- 
cuitous path to the object in view : and, 
u 3dly. That even if both these objections were 
removed, the object would not be effectually 
obtained." 
That is, even if the system were perfect, and not 
only perfect, but direct, still it would not be effec- 
tual ! To the learned Doctor, who is a master of 
the syllogism, and of every form of argument, this 

B 3 



b ART OF ELOCUTION. 

may be clear ; but I confess it puzzles my duller 
apprehension to understand how inefficiency can 
follow from the perfection of means working di- 
rectly to their end. However, let us examine how 
the learned and reverend Doctor proceeds to prove 
the validity of his objections to this artificial system 
of Elocution. He says in the same section, " First, 
such a system must necessarily be imperfect, be- 
cause, though the emphatic word in each sentence 
may easily be pointed out in writing, no variety of 
marks would suffice to indicate the different tones 
in which the different emphatic words should be 
pronounced : though on this depends frequently the 
whole force, and even sense of the expression." 

As an instance, he gives the following passage, 
(Mark iv. 21.): "Is a candle brought to be put 
under a bushel or under a bed?" And he adds, 
" I have heard this so pronounced as to imply that 
there was no other alternative, and yet the emphasis 
was laid on the right words ! " 

What emphasis ? The Doctor (with respect I 
speak it) clearly is not versed in the distinction 
between inflection and emphasis, or in the difference 
between one species of emphasis and another. I 
reply to him, that a pupil who had had three lessons 
only in Elocution, on a good analytical system, 
could not have been guilty of the gross perversion 
of sense, by false reading, instanced above ; for he 
would have learnt very early in his course the in- 
flection due to a simple interrogative, — that ap- 
position of meaning requires apposition of inflection 
— and that, to make antithetical inflections and 



INTRODUCTION. 7 

emphasis on words having apposition of meaning, 
is such a total subversion of every rule of Elocution 
and common sense, as to excite wonder at the pos- 
sibility of any rational being falling into so absurd 
an error.* And the same pupil, if called upon to 
mark to the eye the correct reading of the above 
sentence, could immediately do it, so as to preclude 
the commission of so gross an error — equal, in its 
absurdity, to that of the aspiring youth, who, reck- 
less of pause, inflection, or emphasis, stated that 

" His name was Norval on the Grampian hills," — 

leaving the hearer to imagine that in the lowlands 
he went under another cognomen. 

The right reverend Doctor proceeds to say, that 
such a system, if perfect, must be circuitous, be- 
cause it professes to teach the tones, emphasis, &c, 
which nature, or custom, which is a second nature, 
suggests — that is, because its principles must be 
founded on nature. And he asks triumphantly — 
ci Then, if this be the case, why not leave nature to 
do her own work?" 

The answer is obvious : because were we to leave 
nature to do her own work, we should never emerge 
from a rude state of nature ; her work would be 
"ferox, dura, aspera." 

It is natural to man to walk erect; but the infant 
is assisted in its earliest efforts : and though every 
person can walk, it is not every person, by any 
means, who carries himself firmly, easily, and 

* Vide Apposition, pp 115. !16 3 



« ART OF ELOCUTION. 

gracefully. We see a stooping carriage, rounded 
shoulders, a shuffling gait, an uneven, uncertain 
step: yet all walk, and walk as their nature, or 
custom (which, as Dr. Whately says, is second na- 
ture) leads them ; and every time they indulge this 
their nature, they confirm themselves in the practice 
of a vicious habit. Hence, it is not thought prepos- 
terous, or unworthy of a gentleman, to learn to walk, 
or at least to improve his personal carriage, under the 
directions of a drill-serjeant and a fencing-master ; 
and to acquire by art and exercise the bearing and 
manly step which distinguish the gentleman from 
the uncultivated hind. Thus, it is clear, that it is 
not always enough to leave nature to herself: when 
so left, she frequently degenerates and becomes 
vitiated ; and we are obliged to go back to certain 
principles, drawn even from herself, to restore her 
to her perfect form, complexion, and condition. 

" ISTature is made better by no mean, 

But nature makes that mean ; so o'er that art, 
Which you say adds to nature, is an art 
That nature makes." 

" Lastly," says the right reverend Doctor, u if a 
person could learn thus to read and speak, as it were 
by note, with the same fluency and accuracy as are 
attainable in the case of singing, still the desired 
object of a perfectly natural as well as correct 
elocution, would never be in this way attained. 
The reader's attention being fixed on his own voice, 
the inevitable consequence would be, that he would 
betray more or less his studied and artificial de- 



INTRODUCTION. 9 

livery ; and would, in the same degree, manifest an 
offensive affectation." 

Now, the very object of a system of Elocution, 
such as the right reverend Doctor so strenuously con- 
demns, is to give, by practice on just principles, an 
habitual power of vocal intonation, inflection, and ex- 
pression, suited to every condition of sense, every style 
of composition, every variety of feeling, every vicissi- 
tude of passion : and the Elocutionist who is tho- 
roughly master of his art, no more jixes his attention, 
while speaking, on his own voice, or on the rules by 
which he is producing his effects, than the Rhetorician, 
in the course of a composition or an oration, is think- 
ing minutely of every rule of grammar, logic, or rhe- 
toric, by which to construct his sentences, to round his 
periods, to divide his discourse, or to conduct his 
argument. The skilful fencer, whom practice has 
made master of his weapon, uses it rapidly and with 
effect, without thinking of the names of the guards 
or parades that he is executing. 

" When one is learning a language, he attends to 
the sounds; but when he is master of it, he attends 
only to the sense of what he would express." — Reid 
on the Mind. 

So, in pursuing a system of Elocution, the pupil 
acquires an easy habit, or style of delivery, by 
exercising himself, on rule, in giving voice and 
expression to the language of others, or to his own. 
premeditated and pre- written effusions, — till, from 
practice, what he has done continually by rule 
and art, in set and studied speech, he comes at 
last to execute easily and naturally, and without 



10 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

thought of the means, in spontaneous and original 
effusions. 

Just in the same manner the young rhetorician 
will find in Dr. Whately's Elements valuable di- 
rections for composition, for the construction of 
periods, for perspicuity, energy, and elegance, and 
on every point that can tend to clearness and ele- 
gance of style. In these rules and instructions he 
will exercise himself deliberately in written com- 
positions, and frequent practice will give him facility 
and readiness in their application ; he will soon 
come to write on strict principles of Rhetoric with- 
out once thinking of the rules that guide him, and 
which by habit he will come to follow almost in- 
stinctively ; and, if he have " wit and words " and 
knowledge, he will doubtless arrive at last at the 
grand object of Rhetoric, the fluent, clear and 
forcible viva voce and extemporaneous expression 
of his opinions, sentiments, and feelings, so as to 
sway the minds and passions of his hearers. And 
yet he will have arrived at this result by following 
certain rules ; but without fixing his attention on 
them at the moment that he is carrying them into 
effect. He will, in fact, be practising an art of 
which education has made him master. 

His power as an orator will be doubled if to the 
skill of the Rhetorician he shall add the art of the 
Elocutionist, an art also to be acquired by rule and 
practice. 

I shall conclude my answer to Dr. Whately's 
objections by an extract from his preface to his own 
Elements of Logic : the remarks in which, in de- 



INTRODUCTION. 1 1 

fence of a System of Logic, are, mutatis mutandis, 
exactly applicable to his own objections to a System 
of Elocution ; so that I am happy to have it in my 
power to be able to bring against him a much 
higher authority than myself — his own ; and to let 
the just reasoning contained in his "Elements of 
Logic" refute the false positions put forth in his 
" Elements of Rhetoric" He thus ably and happily 
maintains the utility of Logic, and shows the im- 
portance and necessity of a system for its attain- 
ment : — 

" One preliminary observation it may be worth 
while to offer in this place. If it were inquired, 
what is to be regarded as the most appropriate 
intellectual occupation of man, as man, what would 
be the answer ? The statesman is engaged with 
political affairs ; the soldier, with military ; the 
mathematician, with the properties of numbers and 
magnitudes; the merchant, with commercial con- 
cerns, &c. : but in what are all and each of these 
employed ? — employed, I mean, as men. Evidently 
in reasoning. They are all occupied in deducing, 
well or ill, conclusions from premises ; each con- 
cerning the subject of his own particular business. 
If, therefore, it be found that the process going on 
daily, in each of so many different minds, is, in any 
respect, the same, and if the principles on which it 
is conducted can be reduced to a regular system, 
and if rules can be deduced from that system, for 
the better conducting of the process, then, it can 
hardly be denied, that such a system and such rules 
must be especially worthy the attention — not of 



12 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

the members of this or that profession merely, but 
— of every one who is desirous of possessing a 
cultivated mind. To understand the theory of that 
which is the appropriate intellectual occupation of 
Man in general, and to learn to do that well, which 
every one will and must do, whether well or ill, 
may surely be considered as an essential part of a 
liberal education," 

Tin's is most true, apt, clear, and conclusive ; and 
it is as applicable to Elocution as to Logic. Speech, 
as much as reason, distinguishes man from the 
brute ; all men must use it, whether well or ill, in 
the daily concerns of their lives, or in more public 
affairs, and in a more extensive arena : and the 
advantages of a system for doing it well are equally 
apparent. 

The following passage from the same preface is a 
direct answer to the right reverend Doctor's own 
objections to an artificial system of Elocution : 

"It has usually been assumed, however, in the 
case of the present subject, that a theory which 
does not tend to the improvement of practice is 
utterly unworthy of regard ; and then, it is con- 
tended that Logic {Elocution) has no such ten- 
dency, on the plea that men may and do reason 
(speak) correctly without it : an objection which 
would equally apply in the case of Grammar, 
Music, Chemistry, Mechanics, &c, in all of which 
systems the practice must have existed previously 
to the theory." 

How alive the right reverend Doctor is to the 
weakness of the argument against a system for his 



INTHODUCTION. 13 

favorite art, and yet with what triumph he uses 
the same defeated argument against another, — ex- 
claiming, " Then why not leave nature, or custom, 
which is second nature, to do her own work?" 
He proceeds, and I go with him heartily : — 
"But many who allow the use of systematic 
principles in other things, are accustomed to cry up 
common sense as the sufficient and only safe guide 
in reasoning." This is exactly ivhat the reverend 
Doctor himself does in the case of Elocution, — and 
therefore let him give the coup de grace to his own 
position. 

" Now, by common sense, is meant, I apprehend 
(when the term is used with any distinct meaning), 
an exercise of the judgment unaided by any art 
or system of rules ; such an exercise as we must 
necessarily employ in numberless cases of daily 
occurrence ; in which, having no established prin- 
ciples to guide us— no line of procedure, as it were, 
distinctly chalked out, — we must needs act on the 
best extemporaneous conjectures we can form. 
But that common sense is only our second best 
guide — that the rules of art, if judiciously framed, 
are always desirable when they can be had — is an 
assertion for the truth of which I may appeal to 
the testimony of mankind in general ; which is so 
much the more valuable, inasmuch as it may be 
accounted the testimony of adversaries. For the 
generality have a strong predilection in favour of 
common sense, except in those points in which they 
respectively possess the knowledge of a system of 
rules; but in these points they deride any one 



14 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

who trusts to unaided common sense. A sailor, 
e. g., will perhaps despise the pretensions of medical 
men, and prefer treating a disease by common sense; 
but he would ridicule the proposal of navigating 
a ship by common sense, without regard to the 
maxims of nautical art. A physician, again, will 
perhaps contemn systems of political economy, of 
logic, or metaphysics, and insist on the superior 
wisdom of trusting to common sense in such mat- 
ters ; but he would never approve of trusting to 
common sense in the treatment of diseases. Nei- 
ther, again, would the architect recommend a reli- 
ance on common sense alone in building, nor the 
musician in music, to the neglect of those systems 
of rules, which, in their respective arts, have been 
deduced from scientific reasoning, aided by ex- 
perience. And the induction might be extended to 
every department of practice. Since, therefore, 
each gives the 'preference to unassisted common 
sense only in those cases where he himself has 
nothing else to trust to, and invariably resorts to 
the rules of art wherever he possesses the knowledge 
of them, it is plain that mankind universally bear 
their testimony, though unconsciously, and often 
unwillingly, to the preferableness of systematic 
knowledge to conjectural judgments." 

Now, could any one have furnished a clearer, 
more logical, or more satisfying answer than the 
above, to the learned and right reverend Doctor's 
own objections to a system of Elocution ; and to his 
doctrine, in his Elements of Rhetoric, in favour of 
" unaided common sense," against " the rules of art" 



INTKODtJCTlOIf. 15 

in delivery, viz. : " The practical rule to be adopted 
is not only to pay no studied attention to the voice, 
but studiously to withdraw the thoughts from it, 
and to dwell as intently as possible on the sense : 
trusting to nature (i. e. common sense) to suggest 
spontaneously the proper emphases and tones ! w 

I am contented that the learned prelate's doctrine 
should be adjudged on his own arguments, and that 
his objections to a system of Elocution, which he 
does not profess, should be answered by his able 
defence of a system of Logic, of the rules of which 
he is master. 

I have dwelt thus long on the right reverend 
prelate's opposition to Elocution as an art, because 
I have felt that his testimony might be of great 
weight in deterring many from a study pronounced 
useless or impracticable by so high an opinion, — 
and one deserving great consideration and respect, 
from the station, erudition, and attainments of its 
author : and it is therefore a source of satisfac- 
tion to me, to find that he has himself— in his 
Elements of Logic — furnished arguments against 
himself — in his Elements of Rhetoric — of a clear- 
ness and force that no effort of mine could have 
attained to.* 

I will once more take advantage of the same ad- 
mirable preface, to adopt for my own purpose the 
language of the right reverend Doctor : 

* Goethe, in his Memoirs, says: — 

" In Logic, it struck me as strange that I was so to pull to 
pieces, dismember, and, as it were, destroy those very op°«*- 



16 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

" I am not so weak as to imagine that any system 
can ensure great proficiency in any pursuit what- 
ever, either in all students, or in a very large pro- 
portion of them : ' We sow many seeds to obtain a 
few flowers/ " 

But I am happy to be able to add, that I have 
been gratified by finding my efforts rewarded by 
the marked improvement in voice, delivery, ex- 
pression and gesture, of many pupils who have 
attended my course of instruction for but a short 
period : and in the still greater advance of those 
who have patiently, and steadily, and laboriously 
carried out the system that I have laid down. 

I have added to the system a full practice in 
reading and declamation, extracted from the works 
of the best authors in prose and verse, and in 
every variety of style. The mere reading aloud of 



tions of the mind which I had gone through with the greatest 
ease from my youth, in order to perceive the proper rise of 
them." 

And Butler writes : — 

" And all a Rhetorician's rules 
Teach nothing but to name his tools/ 9 

HUDIBRAS. 

I quote the above by way of protest against the authority 
of Dr. Whately's name being allowed to decide the question 
of the value of a system of Elocution. Goethe scoffs at Logic, 
and Butler mocks at Rhetoric, as mere useless lumber and 
cumbersome machinery. But I imagine neither Dr. Whately's 
Elements of Logic nor his Elements of Rhetoric will be the 
less consulted for the scoff of the poet, or the ridicule of the 
satirist. 



INTRODUCTION. 17 

these extracts, as a practice in reading and decla- 
mation, after a careful study of the rules and prin- 
ciples laid down in the system, even without an 
instructor, wili be of great advantage to the student. 
He will reap at least the benefit of accustoming his 
car to the flow of the language, and so, insensibly, 
catching something of the strength and spirit of 
their diction. 

If he go a step further, and read them under the 
direction of a guide who can point out to him the 
peculiar merits of each, and show him, analytically, 
how every beauty may be heightened and brought 
out into strong relief, by the power of Elocution, — 
if he will practise himself w T ith such an instructor 
on such models, disciplining his ear, his action, and 
his voice, — he may hope to attain a style of oratory 
clear, manly, forcible, and elegant.* 

* It will be observed that frequent reference is made in the 
course of this work to Dr. Whately's admirable Treatise on 
Ehetoric, with a view to elucidate the principles of Elocution 
as a necessary " Element of Ehetoric" and without which the 
latter is maimed and imperfect, robbed of one of its limbs, and 
shorn of half its dignity, its grace and strength. 



19 



PART I. 

ELEMENTS. 

Articulation. — Pronunciation. 

The end of oratory is to persuade. We cannot 
persuade without being first clearly understood ; 
we cannot be clearly understood without distinct 
utterance, — that is, a clear 

ARTICULATION. 

This is the first requisite in reading, and speaking. 
Both prose and poetry are maimed if it be neg- 
lected. Without it, the metre and rhythm of verse 
are destroyed ; many words are not distinguishable 
in sound from others of somewhat similar form, 
though of widely different signification ; and the 
whole delivery is confused and inelegant. With a 
distinct articulation, a speaker of only moderate 
power of voice is heard in any place or assembly, 
much more easily, and with less effort to himself, 
than one of much greater power of organ, whose 
articulation is imperfect : ftr it has been observed, 
that loud, confused noise, even though much greater 
C 2 



20 ART OF LOCUTION. 

in degree, does not travel as far as pure and musical 
sound. Hence the necessity, before all other things, 
of a clear, pure articulation. 

To acquire this perfectly, it is necessary to recur 
to the first princi*)ia 7 — that ia the elementary 
sounds of our laLL,aagt. 

Speech is articulate vocal sound. That sound is 
represented to the eye by signs: these signs are 
letters, — combined into syllables, which syllables 
are combined into words — the perfect signs of 
things ; and the vocal utterance of these signs is 
speech. 

Brutes have vocal sounds, but not speech : for 
the sounds they utter are not articulate. It is 
given to Man alone to shape his voice into in- 
telligible articulate sound, which can communicate 
thought, desire, passion, to his fellow- men. 

Perfect articulation, then, depends on the clear 
enunciation of certain elementary sounds, whose 
combination forms words. 

The signs or letters representing these sounds, 
and forming the alphabet of our language, have 
been classified by grammarians, principally as 
vowels and consonants ; and they define a vowel as 
a simple sound, perfect in itself, — and a consonant, 
as a sound that cannot be uttered without the ad- 
dition or help of a vowel. 

Bat this nomenclature and definition is imperfect 
as a guide and mark of the articulate sounds, what- 
ever may be its value as a classification of the alpha- 
betical signs of our language. It is true, indeed, that 
a consonant (so called from its supposed dependence 



SIGNS AND SOUNDS. 21 

for its sound on an attendant vowel) cannot be in- 
dividually named without the help of a vowel : that 
is to say, the sign or letter B is named be, C se 9 
D de, and so on ; but these consonants, in their 
combination with other signs, do not require for 
their perfect utterance the aid of a vowel at all ; 
so that their names as signs are as distinct from 
their power as sounds, as the names alpha, beta, 
theta, of the Greek alphabet, are distinct from the 
value or power of the sounds of a, (3, 6, when com- 
bined into syllables and words. 

For, if a consonant required, of necessity, an 
attendant vowel before it could be uttered, we 
never could enunciate at all such words as black, 
brandy, claim, draiv, flow, grow, throw, strike, and 
other words commencing with two or three suc- 
cessive consonants without the interposition of any 
vowel : for it will be clear to any one who will 
commence the utterance of any such word, and 
break off before arriving at the vowel, that he can 
and must complete the sounds of the consonants 
without its assistance. 

Thus let any one begin to utter the word brandy 
(6r-andy), and suddenly arrest his voice upon br, 
and he will perceive that he has uttered a sound 
and tone without the aid of a vowel; and so of 
e/-ose, th-row, /-ow, cr-owd, sh-ame, p-ray, &c. ; 
and it is really the same with words commencing 
with a single consonant only, as 6-ad, oold, r-ide, 
m-ake, &c. Each sign, whether a vowel or a con- 
sonant, has its proper elementary sound or sounds, 

C 3 



22 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

however different in quality or degree of tone those 
sounds may be. 

Again, the seven vowel signs in our language, 

A, E, I, O, U, W, Y, 

represent many more sounds, monothongal and 
diphthongal, as will be found in the utterance of 
the following common words : 

A-ll, &-rm, a-t, «-le, e-ve, e-nd, 2-n, isle, 
o-ld, o-n, d-0, us, w-nion, 

in which the sign A, alone, represents four distinct 
sounds. 

And there are many consonant sounds which are 
not represented by any single sign or letter, but 
require the combination of several letters to re- 
present their power : as the sounds ch in church, 
th (soft) in truth y thin, and th (hard) in that, &c. 

Yet these are elementary sounds ; and this shows 
the necessity of clearly distinguishing between the 
mere alphabetical sign and the elementary sound, 
or sounds, which it represents. 

Now, as the perfect appreciation and utterance 
of the elementary sounds are necessary to the 
attainment of a clear and distinct articulation of 
the language, which their combination forms, it 
is essential to adopt a classification and nomencla- 
ture which shall convey a clear and distinct idea of 
their value in speech. For that end, none can be 
found more definite and exact than that propounded 
by Dr. Rush, in his eloquent and philosophical work 
on the human voice. 



ELEMENTARY SOUNDS. 23 

He divides the elementary sounds of our lan- 
guage into 

1. TONICS— 2. SUB-TONICS— 3. ATONICS; 

which may be thus briefly defined : 

1. Tonics (having tone) — those elementary 
sounds which have a distinct and perfect tone or 
vocality, proper to themselves, and capable of being 
held or prolonged by the voice indefinitely. 

Such is the sound of a in a-rm, a-U, &c, of e in e-ve, of o 
in o-ld, &c. 

By voeaiity is meant that full, or (as Dr. Rush defines it) 
" that raucus quality of voice, which is contradistinguished 
from a whisper or aspiration. " This distinction may be 
illustrated by uttering the exclamations " umV as an ex- 
pression of doubt, inquiry, &c., and " sh! " (for husk!) as en- 
forcing silence: in the first of which [urn !) there is vocaiity, 
and in the second (sh /) merely a whispered aspiration, with- 
out tone or vocal sound. 

2. Sub-tonics — whose sound has also tone or vo- 
caiity, but inferior to that of the tonics in fulness 
and power of sustainment. 

Such is the sound of b as heard in &-ad, d in df-ear, I in /-one 
m in m-ode, n in w-ose, &c. 

3. Atonics — whose sound is without tone; that 
is, an impulsion of breath without voeaiity .* 

* Mr. Knowles, in his Grammar, talks of " voice without 

breath" as the distinctive mark of the pure semi-vowels. 

Voice without breath! This is an organic impossibility. 

Voice cannot be produced without breath, though breath alone 

C 4 



24 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

Such is the sound of p heard in p-ad, t in £-ime, s in s-igh, 
/^n/-ade ; the utterance of which is in the nature of an ex- 
plosive whisper, 

TONICS. 

The following is a list of the pure Tonics; their sound is 
given in the separated italic of each word, according to its 
ordinary pronunciation. 



1 



A-YL 


O-n 




5 


Th-e- 


■re i?-nd 




8 



^4-rm A-t A-le 

. Lil 7 

JS-ve m O-ld 

9 



Do B-fi-11 U-yil Z7-s 

1. The tonic sound of a in a-11, and of o in o-n, is organ i- 

cally the same ; with this difference in quantity, that in a-11 

l 
it is long, in tf-n it is short; they are accordingly here marked, 

under the same numeral, with the distinctive mark - long, 

or s/, short 

6. So the tonic of e in e-ve, and of i in i-11, is organically 

the same, differing only in quantity ; numbered and marked 

accordingly. 



does not, without the assistance of the vocal organs, produce 
voice: as, in uttering the letter S, a mere sibilation of the 
breath takes place without vocality; for the hissing of a 
serpent is not a vocal sound ; though the word hiss cannot 
be uttered without the serpent-like sibilation. Voice without 
breath is flame without fire* 



DIPHTHONGAL SOUNDS. 23 

5. The same of e in there, and e in end. 

8. The same of o in d-d, and u in b-w-11. 

9. And of u in w-rn, and w in w-s. 

We have in the above scheme nine distinct pure tonic ele- 
ments, whose sound is monothongal ; that is, capable of being 
produced by one simple process of articulation, and of being 
prolonged to an indefinite time, without any change of tone, 
or alteration of the vocal organs, from the commencement to 
the close of its sound. 

The term monothongal is used in contradistinction to 

MIXED OR DIPHTHONGAL TONICS, 

which are 

Ai-\* 7-sle, Ou-r, Oi-\ ZT-nion. 

The above two lists of pure and mixed tonics contain all 
the tonic sounds, monothongal and diphthongal, that are found 
in our language.f 



4 

* ^4-le, Ai-l. — The authority of Dr. Rush is in favour of 

4 

considering these sounds identical ; that is, he classes the a 
in a-le as diphthongal; but after a very nice examination by a 
good ear, I think a distinct sound may be traced in d7-d, from 
that which is found in fa-de — inpa7-n, from pa-ne. Eor this 
reason I have classed them as separate tonic sounds ; the one 
pure, the other mixed. 

+ It is necessary to observe, that in adopting the nomen- 
clature of the elementary sounds, propounded by Dr. Rush, I 
have thought it advisable to depart in some instances from his 
arrangement and definition of those sounds, and also to make 
additions thereto. I mention this, that that learned and philo- 
sophical writer may not, by any chance, have to bear tb* »n - 



25 ART OP ELOCUTION. 

Of course, in speaking here of diphthongal tonics, I discard 
the grammatical definition of a diphthong : for, according to 
that, the sound of oo, as in ooze, is called diphthongal, whereas 
it is really a pure tonic element; it is the sound of o in d-o. 
In articulation, a diphthong is the union of two tonics, in 
which the actual utterance of each takes place : the radical or 
commencing sound, being different from that which is heard 
at its close or vanish ; thus the sound of the name of the letter 

e 

u (as heard in the word M-nion) is compounded of the e in 

8 e 

e-ve, and the o in d-o : that is, its radical (or root) is e, its 

8 68 

vanish is o, making eo, or il, as in w-nion. 

The following table shows at one view the whole system 
of Tonic Elements, pure or monothongal, and mixed or 
diphthongal. 



putatfon of any errors which may appear in my arrangement 
or definition of those elementary sounds, or of their power 
and value in speech. 



TABLE OF TONIC ELEMENTS. 



a-U tf-n fl-rm 
6 

i A . 7 



a-t a-le th-e-re #-nd 
8 9 



e-ve 



e-11 o-ld d-o b-w-11 



w-rn 



W'S» 



VOWEL SIGNS. 



No. 
for reference 
to the above, 



EXAMPLES. 



has four pure tonics, 
proper to itself, and^ 
one borrowed or 
common 

E 

has three tonics — two 
pure and proper, one > 
borrowed or common 



has f^ree tonics — two 
borrowed, pure ; one "* 

96 

m2>€a or diphth. (ui) I 

° -i 

has ./owr tonics — one! 
pure and proper, and 1 
three borrowed - ^ 



U 

has Mree tonics- 
pure and proper^ 
borrowed, one mixed I 
or diphthongal (6.8.) i. 



s — one J 
>er,onei 



Y ") 

has fa?o tonics, both ! 
borrovjed — one pure, [ 
one diphth. (9.6.) -J 

W 

has owe tonic sound, 
borrowed 



l(-) 

2 

3 

4 

5(-) 

5(-) 

6(~) 
9(~) 

6(-) 
6(~) 

dipL 9.6. 

7 

8(-) 
9(~ ) 

9(-) 
9(~) 

8(-) 

^zpA. 6. 8- 



6 

oTp/i. 9 6. 



8(-) 



all — war — call — pall. 

arm — father — rather — card 

at — ask — cat — apple — lap. 

ale — cane — ace. 

care — lair — mare — dare. 

1 ere — there — ne'er. 
J end — bet — mess — ever. 
eve — me — fee — leave. 
err — learn — fern — mercy. 

"1 f tend — field — wield. 
j ill — m — it — list, 
fir — first — thirst. 

I — sigh — mme — lie. 

old — no — bold — go, 
on — rot — for — lord — cough 
do — whom — boot — fool, 
son — none — come— other. 

"1 urn — bum — curd — pwrse 

J us — ban — cut — blwsh. 

1 trwe — rwde. 

J ball — bwsh. 

U — tmion — time — d uke. 



pity— army — nymph. 
Y — by — my— dye. 



n ok? — cow — bow. 



28 ART OF ELOCUTION. 



NOTES ON THE MIXED OR DIPHTHONGAL TONICS, 

L- — The diphthongal sound of zhas been by some writer 8 

1 e 1 

resolved into the tonic sounds of a and e ; a being given as the 

6 

radical or opening, and e as the vanish or close of the sound. 

l e 
But this combination (ae) would produce the diphthongal 

sound oi, as in voice ; which is, in fact, a provincial pronunci- 
ation of the diphthongal sound of 'i (in such words &sji?id, 
mind, &c.) prevalent among the vulgar in some of the northern 

i e 
counties in England, where we may hear fouid for f i'nd, 

16 9 

k o i nd for kind, &c. The true radical of i is u, as in us, and 

e 
its vanish e, as in eve. This will be manifest by articulating 

these two sounds, separately and slowly at first, and gra- 
dually blending them by a closer and more rapid utterance, 
till the two tonics run together, and are lost in each other, 
thus : 



9 69 6 969696 96 

u e; u e; u — e; u— e; u-e; ue; or i. 

U. — -The diphthongal sound of u, as in wnion, twne, has for 
6 8 

its radical, e, and for its vanish, o; that is, is produced by the 

6 8 

blending of the e, in eve, with the o. in do, thus : — 

6 86 8 6? 8 6 8 68 

e— - — o; e -o; e — o; e«0; eo; u. 

Y — The diphthongal sound of y, as in by, try, is resolvable 
into the same elements as that of i, as afrove given. 

W. — The character of the sound of this sign, as in the above 
examples, is clearly diphthongal, though its elements are 

l 
difficult to trace with exactitude ; perhaps its radical is a, its 



EXERCISE ON THE TONICS. 29 

8 

vanish o. This sign is also frequently mute in its diphthongal 
figure, as in awe : here are three vowel signs with one elemen- 

1 7 

tai-y sound, viz. the tonic sound heard in all. Again, in low, 

7 

the w is nmte, and also in bow (arcus), though heard In the 

18 

verb to bow. 

We shall see hereafter the sub-tonic character of W and Y. 

4 e 

AT. — this diphthong is composed of a and i, as in pa/n, 

ail, which are distinguishable to a fine ear from the pure tonic 

4 4 

in ale, pane, &c. ; but the distinction is really very slight — 
still it exists. 

le 

01 — as in hoy, \oice, is a i. 

OU — as in our, out, &c, is of a complex nature, and appears 
to be triph-thongal. It seems to my ear to be compounded of 

218 

aou; but lam not quite clear as to its elements. For reference 

to the eye, I shall distinguish it thus, ou (to denote its triph- 
thongal character) in the following 

EXERCISE ON THE TONICS. 

12 3 4.. 59 

All art as nature better understood. 

3 3 5 6 14 3 .*. 

And that there is all nature cries aloud through 

1 9 9 

all her works. - 

14 6.. e 4 

All pale with pain he fainted in the place. 

3 6 6_ 59365 

And Eve in Eden ever happy there, 

666 669 66 

If infidelity first victims find. 



30 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

7 7 8 1 8 

Oh holy hope, to live beyond the tdmb. 

9 9 9 

The wonder and the worship of the world. 

11 .'.8 1 # 1 11 

For fortune frowned upon his cause forlorn. 

1 7 # 7 

The torrent roared impetuous in its course. 

7 7 1 

My hoarseness forces me to stop my horse. 

7 7 

The doors are open, 

And the surfeited grooms do mock their charge 

7 

with snores. 

8 9 ..8 

Full often underrates the future good. 

.*. 8 1 .'.8 .'. 8 

Now law shall bow before the power of arms. 
Our wounds cry out for help. 

9 9 7 

And burning blushes spread o'er all her cheek. 

Let the pupil now go through the Table of Tonic Sounds, 
giving to every element its perfect sound, in a, full, loud tone 
of voice, but without strain or painful effort. This, more than 
any practice, will tend to strengthen and bring out his voice 
(see " Vocal Gymnastics") ; and next let him go carefully 
through the Exercise on the Tonics, until he shall read them 
with perfect purity of tonic sound. The careful doing of this 
at the outset will save the pupil much after-trouble in the 
matter of articulation. 

We now pass to the 

SUB-TONICS (15) — ATOPICS (10). 



SUB-TONICS AND ATONICS. 



81 



TABLE OF SUB-TONICS AND ATONICS. 



1 


SUBT. AT. 


ORGANIC FORMATION. 


EXAMPLES. 


B — P 


Pure Labial 


B-ad. P-ay. 


2 


D — T 


Lingua- dental (teeth closed) 


D-ash. T-ask. 


3 


G — K 


Palatine 


G-um. K-ill. 


4 


V — F 


Labia-dental 


V-at. F-ight. 


5 


z — s 


Dental sibilants (teeth open) 


Z-eal. S-ame. 


6 


J — Ch 


Lingua-palatine sibilant 


J-udge. Ch-urch. 


7 


Zsh — Sh 


Palatine sibilant 


A-z-ure. Sh-ame. 


8 


Th — Th 


Lingua-dental (teeth open) 


Th-en. Th-in. 


9 


(.hard) (soft) 

Y — H 


Palatine aspirates 


Y-et. H-it. 


10 


W — Wh 


Labial aspirates 


W-ild. Wh-en. 


11 


R 


Lingua-palatine (vibrating) 


R-ome. R-ide. 


12 


L 


Lingua-palatine 


L-ull. L-ily. 


13 


M 


Nasal-labial 


M-um. M-ind. 


14 


N 


Nasal — lingua-palatine 


N-u-n. N-o-w. 


15 


Ng— — 


Nasal — palatine 


E-ng-land. Thi-ng. 



Direction. — The pupil, or teacher, must pay particular 
attention to the organic formation of the sub-tonics and atonies, 
as it will enable him easily to correct defects of articulation,. 



observations. 

It will be observed that the ^L-tonics have each their appro- 
priate Sub-tomes, to which they belong, and of which they 
are the vanish, or last fading sound: thus B, when sounded, 
after its tone or vocality ceases, fades into P; T> into T; G 
(hard) into K, &c. j as may be perceived by sounding the 
syllables Bab, Did, Gig, &c. 

9. and 10, — Y and W, when initials, lose their full tonic 
character which they have when final; and become sub-tonic 
aspirates in their connection with a succeeding tonic, as in 



32 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

ye, yet, wq 9 won. When w is followed by an A, the aspiration 
is doubled, as wh-o, wh-en, wh-y. The aspiration is made by 
the flow of breath — in Y over the tongue j in W, through the 
protruded lips. 



H. 

This aspirate deserves a whole chapter to itself, with a 
view to repairing the neglect and outrages that are hourly 
offered to it. 

The omission of this aspirate in its proper place is a gross 
vulgarism in speech, a mark of inferior education, and is cal- 
culated to produce a great prejudice against the offender in the 
minds of all persons of refinement. How painful it is to hear 
any one speaking of his " 'owse," or his " 'orse" or telling 
one " 'ow 'ard it is to find a good 'orse ! " 

This is a point of vulgarity on which our friends in the 
United States justly ridicule English people as deficient in 
the due pronunciation of their native language. It is an 
error that Americans are never guilty of ; at the same time, 
I must remark that their aspiration of the h is somewhat too 
strong, (they are indeed a people of strong aspirations!) 
verging on a fault in the other extreme. They incline to 
give a nasal, or, more correctly speaking, a naso-guttural tone, 
as well as an aspirate, to the h, which gives it nearly the 
sound of k, in their enunciation of such words as house, home, 
happy, &c. Now, the aspiration should be decided, but light ; 
not forced, though distinct to the ear. 

44 'Twas wAisper'd in Aeaven, 'twas mutter'd in Aell, 
And ecAo caught softly the sound as it fell." 

There is, however, a still greater and more unpardonable 
sin against this much- abused aspirate — a vulgarism of even 
a deeper dye than its total omission ; that is, the pressing it 
into service where it has no right or call to be, and everj 



SUE-TONICS AND ATONICS. S£ 

where it does not appear in the spelling of the word to which 
if, is forcibly prefixed by the arbitrary aspirator. Such a 
habit is a fatal blot in ordinary conversation, and in public 
speaking would deform and vulgarise the finest discourse or 
oration ever delivered. 

Both these sins of commission and omission are unfortu- 
nately too prevalent ; and when they are combined in the 
practice of one and the same individual, how painful to the 
ear is the perpetually recurring vulgarism! No care, no 
labour, can be too great to eradicate it. 

It shoui'd be first of all remembered, that in the English 
language h is always an aspirate, with very few exceptions : 
as we say an hour, not a hour ; an honour, not a honour ; and 
practice is divided between a humble man and an humble man i 
an herb, and a herb ; a hotel, and an hotel. 

Next, bear in mind, that the definite article the is pro- 
. 9 
nounced thu (almost like the u in us) before a consonant or 

e 
an aspirate ; and the (as in thee) before a vowel or silent h ; 

9 9 6 

thus we say, thu man, thu horse, the angel, &c. 

Now, keeping this steadily in view, let any person who feels 
conscious of error with regard to this aspirate, diligently and 
repeatedly practice the following tables, enouncing each 
cluster of words without pause or rest of breat&>~* 

The ^orse. The Aind. 

The ass. The inn. 

The Aouse. The Aeart. 

The hour. The art. 

The Aarp. The Aorror* 

The herb. The honour. 

The Aome. The Aappy. 

The ape. The easy. 

The horrible. The humble. 

The honourable. The faimbug. 

The hospital. The handsome, 

'liie onerous. The audacious- 



£4 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

And next, practice, over and over again, till they can bo 
repeated with unerring correctness, such phrases as the fol- 
lowing : — 

The eaglo eye of intellect. 
The Aappy home of /msbands. 
The handsome .Harry Ames, 
The Worse's homy hoof. 
Uphold an honoured name. 
BeAold a high hill. 
UnAoused, unAappy, and unhonoured, &c. &c. 

Note. — In adjectives commencing with h, where the 
accent is on the second syllable, it is allowable, for euphony, 
to drop the aspirate ; as we may say an historical fact, an 
habitual, &c, though we must say a history, a habit. 



EXERCISE 

ON THE 

SUB-TONICS AND ATONICS. 

1. Black bubbling brooks break brawling o'er iheir bounds. 
The painted pomp of pleasure's proud parade 

2. Decide the dispute during dinner-time, by dividing the 
difference. 

Tourists thronged, from time to time, to travem the Thames 
tunnel. 

3. Gregory going gaily, galloped gallantly Co the gate. 

Crazed with corroding cares, and killed with consuming 
complaints. 



SUB* TONICS AND ATOPICS. J^ 

4. Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity. 

Frank Feron flattered his friends, but failed not to £nd 
fault with his foes. 

5. His zeal was blazoned from zone to zone. 
Serpents and snakes were scattered on the sea. 

6* Judge and jury adjourned the judgment. 

Chosen champion of the church, he cherished her children. 

7. The azure sea is shining with ships, that shape their 
course for home. 

8. This thread is thinner than that thistle there. 

9. Year after year the o'er-ripe ear is lost. 
Ye heard him hurry yelling o'er your head. 
Up a high hill he heaved a huge, hard stone. 

10. We wildly wish, while wiser workmen win whate'er 
will worth reward. 

11. And rugged rocks re-echo with his roar. 

12. Lamely the lion limped along the lawn. 

13. Many men of many minds, mixing in multifarious 
matters of much moment. 

14. None know, nor need to know his name. 

15. England's king lay waking and thinking, while his 
subjects were sleeping, 



© S 



AST OF ELOCUTION. 



VALUE OF THE ELEMENTARY SOUNDS, 

All deficiencies of articulation not proceeding 
from organic defect are merely an imperfect or 
difficult utterance of the elementary sounds — tonics, 
sub-tonics, and atonies — of which our language is 
composed ; for it is manifest, that if the parts be 
perfect, the whole must be perfect also : and there- 
fore, if our articulation of the elemental sounds be 
just, our articulation of all the syllables and words 
which their combination forms must also be just. 

What is lisping, or stammering ? An imperfect 
or faulty utterance of certain elemental sounds. 
Show the person who lisps or stammers (always 
excepting the case of organic defect) the organic 
process of articulation of the particular sound in 
which his utterance is imperfect, and make him 
practice that process of articulation, and there is no 
doubt of the result ; his defect, if not organic, will 
be removed, and he will speak clearly and dis- 
tinctly. 

Slovenly articulation is mis-spelling to the ear ; 
and is as great a blemish to speech as false spelling 
is to a written letter : one fault should be as care- 
fully guarded against as the other in early educa- 
tion. This can only be done by justly distinguish- 
ing between the sign and the sound, and practising 
the pupil on all the elementary sounds of which his 
language is composed, until he is perfectly master 
of the-ro in all their combinations. 



ELEMENTARY SOUNDS. 27 

The necessity of a distinct articulation will be 
made apparent at once by reading the following 

EXAMPLES, 

1. A serious man was never before guilty of such a series 
of follies ; in which every species of absurdity was accom- 
panied by a speciows gravity, which rendered it infinitely 
amusing. 

In this passage, unless the syllables \es and \ous 
be correctly distinguished by the reader, in the 
words serious and seizes, species and specious, it 
must be quite evident that confusion and uncer- 
tainty will result to the hearer. 

2. The duke paid the money due to the Jew before the dew 
was off the ground ; and the Jew, having duly acknowledged 
it, said adieu to the duke for ever. 

This example may help to correct a carelessness 
very common — that of confounding the consonants 
d and j when followed by the sound of u, a process 
wnich changes adieu into ajeiv, duke into juke, &e. 
" That's vilianous ; reform it altogether. " 

A ludicrous instance of this kind of carelessness 
occurred to me in a town in one of the northern 
counties of England. I was looking at some apart- 
ments which were shown to me by the landlady of 
the house. They did not exactly suit me, and I 
said so. She, with all the hauteur of a disappointed 
and irritated proprietress, replied, " Well, sir, then 
you can shoot yourself elsewhere. " I took my leave, 
assuring her that I had no such suicidal intention. 

D 3 



ES ART OP ELOCUTION. 

However, I followed the advice she meant to give, 
and did suit myself elsewhere. 

How commonly do we hear, in ordinary conver- 
sation, — 

A pHik'lur man, instead of a par-tic-u-lar man. 

A fade error, for fa-to? error. 

A pwrson of emenwnce, for per-son of em-t-nence, 

Voilet, or Yielut, for \i-o-let. 

Pe'fection instead of perfection, &c. 

To correct these, and similar errors of articula- 
tion, arising from a careless utterance of the ele- 
mentary sounds, the tables of articulation in the 
" Practice," are prepared for the reader. Their 
object is, by frequent practice, to give a habit of 
clear articulation of certain sounds, syllables, and 
combinations that are generally slurred over. 

In practice, I find the greatest carelessness pre- 
vailing in the utterance of the following sounds, 
which I therefore single out for exercise: the 
numerals indicating the required sound have refer- 
ence to the Table of Tonic Elements. 

3 3 

a. — The tonic sound of a, as in at, in the 

SYLLABLES AND TERMINATIONS* 

a\ — ant — able 
ar — ance — ative* 

EXAMPLES. 

Articulate — 

fatal, . ... fa- ial, not fa*& 



ARTICULATION — TONIC SOUNDS. 



S3 



particular, . . par-tic-u-lar, 

arrogant, . . ar-ro-gant, . 

arrogance, . . ar-ro-gance, . 

honorable, . . hon-o-rable, . 

restorative, . . res-to-ra-tive, 

[See Table of Articulation, No. l.'J 



not pwr-tic-u-te. 

not ar-ro-gwnt. 

not ar-ro-gwnce. 

not hon-o-rw561e. 

not res-to-rwtive. 



Note. — The indefinite article a should never have the 

4 

long slender sound of the vowel, as in ale, but the open sound, 

3 

as in at. It is exceedingly bad, and at the same time very 

4 4 

common, to say, a man, a book. 



5 5 

e. — The short sound of e as in met, in the 



TERMINATIONS 

el — et — ent — ence — ess — etj. 



EXAMPLES. 




Articulate — 




rebel, . . . reb-ef, . . . not 


rob-ble. 


sarcenet, . . sarse-rae£, . • not 


sarse-nwt, nor sarse-mt 


prudent, . . pru-derat, . . not 


pru-dwnt. 


prudence, . pru-dewce, . . not 


pru-dwnce. 



contentedness, con-tent-ed-ness, not con-ten- ted-mtss. 
sobriety, . . so-bri-ety, . . not so-bYi-utty. 

[See Table No. 2/J 



er. — The borrowed sound of the e joined to the liquid r, 



making the syllable er. 



D 4 



10 



ART OF ELOCUTION. 



This sound is between the e in met and the u in curl. It is 
a vulgarity to sound verse as vwrse, mercy as mwrcy. 

9 

The correct sound of e is attained by striking the accent 

9 

lightly, and without dwelling on the r ; whereas, in ilr, as in 
curd, the sound is more open, and heavier. 

[See Table No. 4.] 

Note. — The definite article the must never have the long 

6 

sound of e, as in thee, except before a vowel or a silent h. 



6 
i. — The short sound of i, ss i*£ sin, ci~ty, in the 

TERMINATIONS 

in — itj — il-ity — itive — Me, and others of similar 
form. 





EXAMPLES, 






Articulate — 








province . . 


. prov-mce, . . 


not 


prov-e/ice. 


capacity, . . 


. ca-pa-ci-ty, . . 


not 


ca-pa-cs-ly. 


ability, . . 


. a-bil-i-fy, . . . 


not 


a-bil-e-ty. 


lenitive, . . 


. len-i-tive, . . . 


not 


len-e-teve. 


plausible, . 


. plaus i-ble, . . 


not 


plaus-e-ble. 






[See Table No. 3.] 



ir. — The borrowed sound of i joined to the liquid r, making 

9 9 

the syllable ir distinct from ur, as in sir, which is a lighter 
and closer sound than cur. 

Virtue must not be called vwrtue. nor third tburft, &c. 

[See Tabie No. 4.] 



ARTICULATION — TONIC SOUNDS. 4i 



7 7 

o. — The full and round, open sound of o in the 





SYLLABLES 








o — ow — (unaccented). 






EXAMPLES. 






Articulate — 








opinion, . . 


. o-pin-ion, . . . 


not 


wp-pin-ion. 


potato, . . 


. po-ta-to, . . . 


not 


pw^-ta-ta. 


fellow, . . 


. fel-lo, .... 


not 


fel-la. 


innovate, . 


. in-no-vate, . . . 


not 


in-nwu-ate. 



[See Table No. 5.] 
l 

or. — The intermediate sound of o, with r in the termination 

l 

v^ 9 

or, unaccented, which must he kept distinct from ur. 

EXAMPLES. 

Articulate — 

orator, . . . or-a-for, . . . not or-a-twr. 
conspirator, . con-spi-ra-tor, . not con-spir-a-tar, &c. 



6 8 _ 

u. — The diphthongal sound of" u, like iu, as in pare, has the 
same sound as iew in view, in the following 

SYLLABLES AND TERMINATIONS : 

ue — uit — ude — ■ uce — use — uke — ume — une — ure 
(accented) — ual — unar — ular — uble. 

EXAMPLES. 

Articulate — 

(tee, • « . • diew, . . . not doe* 



42' 



ART OF ELOCUTION. 



duty, „ , 


. diuty, 


. not 


dooty. 


conclude, . 


. conclewd, 


. not 


conclood. 


produce, , 


. prodewce, 


. not 


prodooce. 


duke, . , 


• diuke, 


• not 


dook. 


presume, 


. presume, 


. not 


presoome. 


tune, . 


* • tiuiie, • 


• not 


toone, &c. 
[See Table No. &] 



EXCEPTIONS. 

When any of the above combinations are compounded with 
r; and when ure is compounded with s, as in sure, and its 
derivations j in which cases the pure tonic sound of the u pre- 
vails, like oo in poor, but less broad somewhat, and more ra- 
pidly accented, as 



raler, . . 


rooler. 


trace, . . 


troose. 


trwe, . . 


troo. 


abstrwse, . 


abstroose. 


rwin, . . 


room. 


sure, . . 


shoor. 


protrude, . 


protroode. 


insure, . . 


inshoor. 


ruminate, 


roommate. 


assurance, • 


ashooraacej &c 



[See Table of Exceptions.'] 



DOUBLE VOWEL SOUNDS 

must be carefully distinguished from diphthongal sounds, and 
the sound of each vowel be duly given, as 

ea, as in area (air-z/-a). 

ies, as in species (speeshy-es), series (seery-es). 

to, as in violate (w-o-late), vi-o-lence, &c. 



Having gone through the Tables of Practice on the above 



PRONUNCIATION. 43 

sounds, let the reader practise the Contrast Tables, to 
make the distinction between them clearer to the ear. 

The above terminations and syllables are those 
on which the greatest carelessness exists in the 
articulation of the tonic sounds, and therefore I 
have selected them for practice ; but it is equally 
necessary to observe the due sounds of the tonics, 
whether they occur in commencing, middle, or ter- 
minating syllables. 

In reading the tables, be particular first to get 
the correct tonic sound of the vowel, as given in 
the key-word, and bear in mind that articulation of 
a sound does not imply accentuation of the syllable; 
that is part of 

PRONUNCIATION. 

Pronunciation distinguishes the educated gentle- 
man from the vulgar and unpolished man. 

Pronunciation is made up of articulation and 
accentuation; when both are perfect, the individual 
has a correct and elegant pronunciation. 

Custom, — as Horace has truly said, " quern penes 
arbitrium est etjus et norma loquendi " — custom is 
the arbiter and criterion of what is correct in 
speech ; but then it is the custom of the polite and 
elegant part of the world, not of the mere vulgar, 
that must guide us ; and of which the Eoman poet, 
writing, as he did, to the cultivated intellects of the 
Augustan age, must be understood to speak. 

The custom of vulgar thousands cannot sanctify 
their errors ; nor can the daily practice of thou- 



44- AKT OF ELOCUTION. 

sands change folly into wisdom, any more than it 
can corrupt 

mischievous to mischiev'-ous, or ev'-ious, 
horrible to horrable, 

yellow to yallow, &c. &c, 

or give authority to any similar improprieties. 

The pulpit, the senate, and the bar, ought, from 
the advantages of education generally possessed by 
their members, and from their social position, to be 
the standard authorities to which we might appeal with 
certainty (for our language is continually undergo- 
ing change, addition, and improvement) ; but, un- 
fortunately, the gentlemen of the learned profes- 
sions are frequently so careless in their own 
pronunciation as rather to require admonition 
{medice, sana te ipsum), than to be looked to as 
authorities ; so that they may, from their own 
inaccuracies, be considered a Court of Error, but 
not of Appeal. We must, therefore, rely upon 
such lights as we have, and the assistance of those 
who, well educated in other respects, make their 
own language their particular study. 

The following are a few very common examples, 
which it is absolutely necessary to correct, of 

ERRONEOUS PRONUNCIATION 

by mal- articulation or false accentuation 

OMISSION OF SUB-TONICS OR ATONICS. 

g in ing, as in comm' for coming, speakm' for speaking, &c 
ts in sts, as inszV for insists, persis* for persists, &c. 



ERRONEOUS PRONUNCIATION. 



45 



OMISSION OF A MIDDLE OR DOUBLE SUB-TONIC. 

m in mm, as iroaculate for im-maculate, &c 
n in nen, as prowess, for prone-ness, &c. 



FALSE ACCENTUATION. 



ar'-o-ma 


• • ! 


for 


a-ro'-ma. 


as'-pir-ant 


. • 


for 


as-pi'-rant. 


ab'-domen 


. 


for 


abdo'-men. 


fi'-nance 


• . 


for 


fl-nan'ce. 


opp'onent 


. 


for 


op-po'-nenfc. 


per' -fume 


(V.) . 


for 


per-fu/ma. 


per-fu'me 


OO • 


. for 


per'-fume. 


pre-ce'-dent . 


(a) . 


. for 


prc'ce-dent. 


pre'-ce-dent . 


(adj.) . 


. for 


pre- ce'- dent. 


mischie'v-ous 


. 


. for 


mis'-chiev-ous. 


adverti , se-ment • 


. for 


adver-tisment. 








&c. &c. 



Such are a few points which I particularly 
notice, because it is in them that errors most 
prevail. The nature of this book does not pretend 
to go into the whole theory of pronunciation : my 
object is, practically to correct certain prevalent 
faults of articulation and pronunciation. 



46 



ART OF ELOCUTION* 



PRACTICE. — FIRST DIVISION. 



TABLES OF ARTICULATION 



TONIC SOUNDS* 
11 2 3 4 5 56 « 

«-ll— tf-n — a-rm — a-t — a-le — tn- e-re — e-nd — e-re — i'-ll— 

7 8 8 9 9 

o-ld — d- 6 — b-ie-11 — w-rn — u-s* 



TABLE I. 



8 3 

a. — The tonic sotmd of a, as in at, in the 



aS 

rm-tal 

pas-ca/ 

his-to-ri-ca? 

pas-to-ra/ 

mus-i-caZ 

su-i-ci-da? 

hom-i-ci-daJ 

pic-to-ri-aZ 



TERMINATIONS 

ant — ance 

dis-so- ( naBt 
L nance 

«^~ „~ f nant 
ccm-so- { 

t iltiwCo 

fgant 
\ gance 

fgant 
\ gance 

{ant 
ance 
tem-per-ance 
re-li-ance 
de-fi-ance 
va-ri-ance 



ar-ro- 



cl-c- 



tol-er- 



ar 

ar-tic-u-lar 

o-rac-u-lar 

au-rio-u \ar 

pa/~foe-u-iar 

per-pen-dic-u-la? 

joc-u-lar 

mus-cu-lar 

ve-hic-u-lar 

con-su-lar 

in-su-lar 



TABLES OF ARTICULATION. 



47 



a-cy — a-tive 

im-per-a-tive 

in-dic-a-tive 

pal-li-a-tive 

pnrg-ez-tive 

pre-rog-a-tive 

res-tor-a-tive 

lax-a-tive 

provo-ca-tive 

pi-ra-cy 

con-spir-a-cy 



a-ble 

a-mi-a-ble 

hon-or-a-ble 

res-pect-a-ble 

in-val-u-a-ble 

nav-ig-a-ble 

reas-on-a-ble 

a-vail-a-ble 

sale-a-ble 

re-mark- a-ble 

ter-min-a-ble 



TABLE n. 



6 5 

6, — The short sound of e as in met, in the 

TERMINATIONS 

ent — ence 



pru-dent-ence in-con-ti-nent-ewce som-no-lent-ewce 

em-i-newt-ence dif-fi-de/ri-erace im-per-ti-nent-cnce. 



ess 

prone-ness 

bless-ed-ness 

cost-li-ness 

laz-i-ness 

con-tent-ed-ness 

su-pine-ness 



ety 

pi -ety 

so-bri-ety 

sa-ti-ety 

so-ci-ety 

con-tra-ri-ety 

va-ri-ety 



et 

par-a-pe* 

vi-o-le£ 

mar-ti-ne* 

sar-ce-ne* 

tab-i-nef 

cov-o-net 



45 



ART OF ELOCUTION. 



TABLE III. 
6 G 6 

i. — The short sound of z, as in sin, city, 

TERMINATIONS. 



ity 

ami-a-bzl-zty 

res-pon-si-bzl-zty 

affa-bz'1-zty 

hos -til ity 

du-pl/-czty 

di-vzn«rty 



i-tole 

feas-z-ble 

plau-sz-ble 

dz-vzs-z-ble 

rzs-z-ble 

in-com-paW-ble 

ter-rz-ble 



1-tlve 

/en-z-tive 

in-fin-i-tive 

sen-sz-tive 

de-fin-z-tive 

in-guz-sz-tivo 



TABLE IV. 



9 9 



er-ir. — The borrowed sounds of e and i, joined to r, mak- 

9 9 . 9 

ing er and zr, as in her, sir, distinct from the sound of ur, as in 
cur, czzr/. 

Read the following table across in triple column. 



er 


ir 


ur 


verse, 


first, 


cwrst. 


mercy, 


thirsty, 


dwrst. 


per- verted, 


vzr-tue, 


bursting. 


revert, 


shz'rt, 


pursed. 


pert, 


dirty, 


nurseling. 


heard, 


bird, 


word. 


early, 


firmly, 


bwrly. 


preferred, 


thz'rd, 


sturdy. 



Note. — This distinction is easily made by making the er 
and far shorter and lighter (by dwelling less upon them in utter- 
ance, and accenting them more rapidly) than ur, which has a 
broader and more open sound. 



TABLES OF ARTICULATION. 



4$ 



TABLE V. 



7 7 



o-ow.-— The full and round sound of the vowel o (as in 
low) in th& vowel o and diphthong ow, unaccented. 



potato, 


iolYow 


will'ow, 


foU'oMMng, 


o-pinion, 


faXVow, 


hilYow, 


beli'ow-ing, 


o-vation, 


felYow, 


pillW, 


mell'owj-ing, 


in-no-vate, 


mell'ow, 


JU.V/XJ. OlVy 


pilFowed, 


per-o-ration. 






hoWowed, 



TABLE VI. 



* u, — The diphthongal sound of u (eu), as in pare. 



uce 
use 
uke 

pro-dwce. 

ab-wse. 

duke, 

re'f-Mse. 

ob-twse. 

re-d^ee. 

dif-fwse. 

re-bwke. 



SYLLABLES AND TERMINATIONS. 



ume 

une 

ure 

pre-sume. 

twne. 

en -dure. 

al-lwre. 

for'-twne. 

con-szmie. 

im-por-time. 

re-lwme. 



ue 

nit 
ude 

due — duty. 

suit, 

ex-ude. 

pre-clwde. 

pur-swe. 

con-clwde. 

im-bwe. 

pur-SMzY. 



ual 

unar 
ular 
uble 

lw-nar. 

con-sw-lar. 

vol-M-ble. 

joc-w-lar. 

an-ntc-aL 

rit-w-al. 

for-mw-la. 

sin'g-w-lar. 



EXCEPTIONS TO TABLE VI. 

When any of the above syllables are compounded with r ; 

8 

in which cases the pure tonic sound of the u 9 like oo in poor, 
prevails, as in true ; as, — 

E 



50 



ART OF ELOCUTION. 



truce, 

ab-strwse. 

pro-trwde. 

rw-minate. 

ru-movir. 



as-sw-rance. 

in-swred. 

im-brwed. 

ru-in. 

truth. 



tru-ism, 
rw-ler. 
rwde-ly. 
crude- ly. 
in-tru-dinSi 



And when ure is preceded by s, it makes shoore. 



CONTRAST TABLES. 

To render the distinction between the above sounds clearer, 
to the ear, read the following Tables in double column for 
contrast, giving the vowel sounds to each, as in the preceding 
Tables. 



a-tive 

imper-ative, 

lax-ative, 

indic-ative, 

deriv-ative, 

restor-ative, 



i-tive 

len-itive. 
sen-sz-tive. 
in-fin-ztive. 
defin- rtive. 
inquisitive. 



ant 

arro-gant, 

conso nant, 

ele-gant, 

toler- ant, 

disso-nant, 

rele-vant, 

cormo-rant, 



enfc 

con-ti-nent. 

somno-lent. 

emi-nent. 

dim-dent. 

dili-gent. 

pru-dent. 

immi-nent. 



able 

reason-able, 

navig-able, 

avail -able, 

respect-able, 

termin-able, 

valu-able, 

calcul-able, 

season-able 



Ible 

plausible. 

divisible. 

feas-zble. 

incompatible. 

ter-r/ble. 

sen-sible. 

inteili-gsble. 

discernible. 



ess ous 

Y>vone~?iess i libidi-nows. 
supine- ness, multitudi-nows. 
l&zi-ness, opprobri-ous. 

costli-ness, glori ous. 

blessed-ness, graci-ows. 
contented ness y desir-ows. 
zealous-ness, labori-ows. 
absteimows-tt&ss,niagnitudi-n0M$ 



TABLES OF ARTICULATION. 



51 



e s 


8 


68 


8 


u 


u 


U 


U 


duke 


book 


consume 


insure 


rebuke 


undertook 


dilute 


intrude 


produce 


abstruse 


duplicate 


trooper 


prechtua 


protrude 


endurance 


assurance 


denude 


rude 


contusion 


obtrusion 


voluble 


quadruple 


ablution 


intrusion 


pursue 


construe 


circular 


ruler 



or 

■or-a-tor 

conspira-tor 

counsel-lor 

composi-tor 

appari-tor 

sena-tor 

xnoni-tor 



ar 

par-ticu-lar 

insu-lar 

consu-lar 

muscu-lar 

oracu-lar 

jocu-lar 

auricu-Lzr 



i-ty 

abiWty 

viril-tty 

mortal-ity 

dupli-city 

infin-Uy 

docil-zty 



e-ty 

soci-ety 

sobri-ety 

sati-ety 

contrari-ety 

vari-ety 

pi-ety 



ate 


et 


io — ies ia — oi — oust 


vindi-c«te 


para-pef 


vt-ol vi-al 


predi-ca(e 


marfci-ng* 


Yi-o-let void-anco 


vio- Late 


vio-\et 


vt-o -lence vt'-a-ctacft 


adjudi-cafe 


tabi-nef 


vi-o-lable vi-a-ry 


poten-tafe 


sarce-nef , 


se-ii-es se-ri-ous 


•ptzl-ate 


coro-ne* 1 


ppe-ci-es sre-ci-o?<* 



E 2 



1*2 ART OF EL0CSJTI0N 3 



PEACTICE ON PEONUNCIATION. 

(See page 43.) 

The vi'O-let \Aoom-ing on the dew-y ground fills 
the air with its per'-fwmes, and the m-no-cent lily, 
amidst the gaudier flowers of the gar-den, is an 
emblem of nnassum-ing modesty, remam-ing unpol- 
luted and uncontam-i-nated by the van-^-ties and* 
vices of the world. 



Honour was the vir-tue of the Fagan ; but Chris- 
ti-an-£ty teaches a more enlarged and a nobler 
code — call-ing into activ-ity all the best feel-ings of 
our na-ture — il-lu-ming our path through this world 
with deeds of mer-cy and ch&r-ity, mutu«l-ly done 
and received — and sustain-i^ us amids£ difficulties 
and temptations, by the Aope of a glorious im- 
mortal-^, in which peace shall be invi-o-lable and 
joy e-ter-nal. 



TWst, hanger, and naked-ness are ills inci-de^t 
to Au-man-%, wAich — however secure we may at 
present pre-szme ourselves to be from them — we 
may one day be reduced to experi- ence. Let us, 
therefore, not abuse prosper-^, that we may not be 
ter-n-fied at ad-ver-sity. 



PRACTICE ON PRONUNCIATION. 53 

The President of the company considered Aim- 
self bound by the precedents before Aim ; but 
*he?e precedents were precedent to the passing of 
the late act, und^r which prece'Jence »s riven to 
the President s nominees. 



For a se-ri-ous man Ae was guilty of a se-ri-es 
of absurdities hardly credible. 

Irasc£-bi'l-z-£y of temper frequently ac-companies 
infirm-% of Aealth, but is no ev-i-dence of inAu- 
man-% of disposition. 



The Aorse and the ass ascended the Aill at the 
same hour unAurt ; and arrived at the Angel Inn 
in the High Street at Aalf-past eight; then 
Aastened Aome to their Aay and oats, wAich the 
ostler Aad Aardly Aad opportunity to get ready. 



The \i-o-\ence of Ais dis-po-sition will one day 
lead Aim into danger and difficulty. He Aas 
already fought a du-el ; he is a rebCZ against 
pa-ren-taZ authority ; Ais principal occupation is 
pleasure ; Ais princi-ples are unfixed, and the pur- 
suits in wAich he delights lead him into so-ci-ety 
fa-tal to his respecta-b^Wty. .His prone-wess to 
play is very preju-diciaZ to Ais Aealth and Aappi- 
ness: Ais fi-nan'ces are low, and Ais credit is 
shaken. 



54 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

An honourable and Aigh-minded individual 
interested himself Aeartily in the happiness of an 
artist wAose extraordinary ingenuity in every 
article of industry was handsomely acknowledged 
by the Aeads ot tne Acudemy of Arts, 



PAKT II. 



Elocution, as an art, is imitative ; it copia^, it 
mimics — as it were — the inflections, tones and 
variations 'of the voice in ordinary unrestrained 
speech. Its rules — which are drawn from obser- 
vation of these natural tones, inflections and varia- 
tions — teach us to invest the language of others, or 
our own pre-meditated and pre-written effusions, 
with the same variations of voice, inflection, and tone, 
as we should use, were they the spontaneous and 
extempore outpourings of our immediate thoughts 
and feelings. And as, in rhetoric, we acquire a 
good habit or style of composition by a study and 
analysis of the styles and compositions of others ; — 
so, in Elocution, w T e acquire an easy habit or style 
of delivery, by exercising ourselves in giving voice 
and expression to the language and sentiments of 
others ; — till, from practice, what we have done 
continually by rule and art, in set and studied 
speech, we execute at last easily and naturally, in 
spontaneous and original effusions. After mere 
distinctness of articulation, and correctness of 
pronunciation, this is the first object of Elocution, 
— to read and speak easily and naturally. 
E 4 



56 ART OF LOCUTION. 

And this we attain by 
1. PAUSE — 2. INFLECTION — 3. EMPHASIS. 



1. PAUSE. 

RHETORICAL PAUSES. 

The grammatical pauses which are addressed tc 
the eye of the reader are insufficient for the 
speaker; who addresses himself to the under- 
standing "through the porches of the ear" He 
requires more frequent stopping-places, at more 
equal intervals, and of better regulated propor- 
tionate duration ; both for his own ease and relief, 
to enable him to acquire fresh impetus on his 
journey; and for the convenience of those who 
follow his steps, that they may be able with facility 
to keep in his track. 

We have, therefore, rhetorical pauses, which are 
independent of, though consistent with, and assist- 
ant to, the grammatical pauses. It is essential that 
the doctrine of rhetorical pause should be distinctly 
understood ; as it not only marks the proper di- 
vision of thought, and the condition and relation of 
one part of the sense to another, but its practice is 
indispensable to the perfect effect of the orator; 
without it, he must totter and stumble through 
every long and intricate sentence with pain to him- 
self and his auditory : with its aid, his movements 
become regular, certain, and easy. 



RHETORICAL PAUSE. 57 

To provo this, let the student read aloud the 
three following sentences, without pause of any 
kind ; for there is no grammatical pause marked 
in them. I give them as I find them printed in the 
several books from which they are taken. 

1 . Nothing is more prejudicial to the great interests of a 
nation than unsettled and varying policy. 

2. You do not expect from the manufacturer the same dis- 
patch in executing an order that you do from the shopkeeper 
and warehouseman. 

3. There is no doubt that the perception of beauty becomes 
rroz-e exquisite by being studied and refined upon as an object 
of art. 

The reader will feel that in each of these 
sentences some pause is required, both for his 
own ease in delivery, and to assist the ear and 
understanding of the auditor, who is otherwise 
liable to be confused by a jumble of rapidly 
uttered phrases thrown together without mark or 
division of sense and relation. 

This shows that some system of pausing is re- 
quisite, in reading, and speaking, independent of, 
though auxiliary to, the grammatical pauses. 

For this purpose I adopt four rhetorical pauses, 
viz. — 

1. The short Pause, thus marked % equal, in duration of 
time, to the Quaver-rest in music. 

2. The middle Pause,"^-, double the time of the short pause. 

3. The Rest, -, or full Pause, double the middle pause, and 
equal to the Minim-rest in music. 



58 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

4. The long Pause, i , double that of the rest, and equiJ to 
the Bar-rest in music. 

Of all these, the first, or short pause "*, is of the 
greatest importance, on account of its continual 
use, and its great assistance and relief to the orator, 
— being rather in the nature of a suspension of the 
breath, than an absolute pause. 



1. Short Pause, ~', or Quaver-rest. 

In the first place, the short pause, or quaver-rest, 
may always be used when a comma is used or 
required in grammatical punctuation. 

For rhetorical or elocutionary purposes it must 
have place — 

After, — 

1. The nominative phrase (or it might be called 
the subjective phrase) ; that is, several words com- 
posing one phrase, and standing as the nominative 
to some verb : as, — 

The passions of mankind** too frequently obscure their 
judgment. 

To act virtuously** is to act wisely. 

To judge correctly of others** we should first well know our- 
selves ; — 

for this is as if we said, — 

To judge others justly** requires us to know ourselves well 



SHORT PAUSE. 59 

2. When the form of the sentence is inverted, 
this pause has place 

After the objective phrase ; as, — 

By the violence of our passions**' our judgment is frequently 
blinded. 

By acting virtuously^ we act wisely. 

By virtuous conduct^ we consult our own happiness. 

So, when by inversion the predicate* precedes 
the subject, there must be a short pause after the 
predicate; as, — 

Sufficient for the day** is the evil thereof. 

The wisest of men*" 1 was Solomon. 

The most splendid temple of art* 1 is the Crystal Palace. 

So, in every inversion, there will be a short 
pause after the first inverted phrase ; as, — 

Like a loyal subject** 1 he defended his king. 

Boldly and wisely ** he upheld the constitution of his 
country. 

"Brief and few** were the words he spoke. 

Cold and unmoved** 1 he faced the angry multitude. 

The rights of the living*" he violated ; the ashes of the 
dead*" he desecrated and scattered to the winds. 

* By the u predicate " logicians mean what is said or 
predicated of a subject, as " John (subject) is a good boy " 
(predicate). 



60 ART OF KLOQirr/QN. 

In years, a man**"' simplicity, a child. 
On the bare eaith^' exposed he lies. 

3. After the emphatic word of force ; and the 
subject of a sentence, though but one wore, if 
requiring to be particularly marked : as,— 

Virtue* is the wisest philosophy. 

Well, honor" 1 is** 1 the subject of my story. 

4. After each member of a series; as, — 

Charity' 9 ' 1 joy"* peace** patience 1 **- are Christian ornaments 
of the soul. 

(The middle pause has place after the last member 
of the series.) 

A good heart** a tender disposition** a charity that shuns 
the day"' 1 a modesty that blushes at its own excellence "" such 
are the accomplishments* 1 that please in youth** 1 and endure 
in age. 

In the second place — the short pause is to 

be used — ■ 

Before — 

«5. The infinitive mood; as, — 

We are all called upon** 1 to assist our fellow creatures in 

distress. 

6. Before prepositions, when they govern a 
whole clause of a sentence ; but not when they 
occur in the body of the clause or phrase * : as, — 

It is prudent ^ in every man M to make early provision *** 
against the wants of age ^ and the chances of accident. 

* i. e. not when forming the genitive case. 



SHORT PAUSE. C) 

Here the prepositions "in 9 * and "against" 
govern respectively the words or clauses -which 
they precede ; they form points of division or land 
marks of the meaning; they consequently require 
a pause before them to indicate that division ; but 
the preposition "of" in the clauses "ivants of age" 
and "chances of accident" is not to be marked with 
a preceding pause, for it is only part of a phrase, 
and forms no division of meaning : for in Elocution 
the phrases "wants of age" and "chances of 
accident" would be respectively read as one word, 
as if written and accented " ivanis-ofage" and 
" chances-of-ac' cident" 

7. Before relative pronouns ; as, — 
These are the men*"' who desire your support. 

Such are the errors* 5- which you must avoid ; such the ex- 
ample* 3 which you should emulate. 

8. Before conjunctions ; and adverbs of time, 
similitude, and some others : as, — 

Nations* 1 like men* 1 fail in nothing* 1 which they boldly 
undertake 1 " 1 when sustained" by virtuous purpose* 1 and firm 
resolution. 

When the conjunctions "and" "but" "or," 
serve merely as connecting links to a phrase con- 
veying a whole idea, or of words and ideas closely 
allied to each other, there should be no pause before 
them (analogous to the rul$ respecting prepositions); 
for pause is intended to mark the division of one 
clause, and one step in the progress of the meaning, 
from another : as, — 



62 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

A virtuous life* 1 most surely conduces to peace and happi- 
ness. 

Here there should be no pause before and ; the 
ideas it links together are so similar and so allied 
to each other, as not to admit of being disjoined. 
But, if the sentence stood — 

A virtuous life** 1 will secure peace to our youth* 1 and 
happiness to our age, — 

a pause, as marked, would be required before the 
conjunction and, separating, as it does, two distinct 
clauses, conveying distinctly separate, though not 
dissimilar ideas. 

9. The short pause has also place on an ellipsis, 

supplying the omitted word ; as,- — 

Such is the example*' 1 you are offered. 

(Here the pause supplies the place of which). 

A people* 1 once enslaved* 1 may groan* 1 ages** 1 in bondage, 

(instead of "for ages"). 

Note. — Never pause between the verb and its objective 
case, in a direct sentence, unless other words intervene; ex- 
cept for the sake of emphasis. 



2. Middle Pause,*"-, or Crotchet-rest, 

Frequently occurs in the middle of a sentence, 
— which it serves to divide, by separating the 



MIDDLE PAUSE. 63 

opening, or what may be called the incomplete or 
hypothetical part, from the closing or winding up 
of the sentence, — where the sense is perfected. 

EXAMPLES. 

If the world is not the work of chances- 
it must have had an intelligent Maker. 

Although you see not many possessed of a good taste **- 
yet the generality of mankind are capable of it. 

Nations, like men, fail in nothing which they boldly under- 
take s- 

when sustained by virtuous purpose and firm resolution. 

BULE 1. 

The middle pause -precedes and marks the commencement of 
the climax of the sense of a sentence. 

And now, applying all the preceding rules for 
pause, let the student read aloud the three extracts, 
which he lias already read without the rhetorical 
pauses; and he cannot fail to perceive the advan- 
tage he will gain in ease and effect. 

They would be marked, as to rhetorical pauses, 
as follows: 

1. Nothing is more prejudicial^ 1 to the great interests of 
a nation ***- 

than unsettled and varying policy. 

2. You do not expect ^ from the manufacturer*" 1 the same 
dispatch*" 1 in executing an order" 1 - that you do*" 1 from the 
shopkeeper and warehouseman. 

3. There is no doubt** 1 that the perception of beauty' 3 ' 1 bt» 



61 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

comes -more exquisite** 1 - by being studied and refined upou.** 1 
as an object of art. 

Eule 2. 

The middle pause also should be used after the last member 
of a series, before the verb or phrase which is common to all 
the members. 

EXAMPLES. 

Charity** 1 joy"" 1 peace** 5 patience*" 1 - are Christian ornaments 
of the soul. 

To be courteous to one's equals** 1 respectful to one's su- 
periors 6 ^ mild and condescending to one's inferiors** 1 - these 
are sound points of conduct** 1 which distinguish the gentle- 
man ■* 1 from the pretender to good breeding. 

Eule 3. 

The middle pause is also used to mark a parenthesis, or any 
parenthetical interruption of the sense ; unless it be very slight; 
in which latter case the short pause is sufficient. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Men of superior genius *** 

while they seethe rest of mankind*" 1 painfulry 
struggling** 1 to comprehend obvious truths**'- 

glance** 1 themselves** 1 like lightning** 1 
through the most remote consequences. 

2. Genius** 1 the pride of man** 1 

as man is of the creation ^ 

has been possessed but by few. 

The judicious use of the short pause and the 
middle pause, serves also to class and divide mem- 



FULL PAUSE. 6o 

bers of sentences in logical and clear division, 
according as they are more or less immediately 
connected with each other in thought and construc- 
tion; hence follows, as a — 

Ge>teral Kttle. 

Clauses of sentences having immediate reference to each 
other, can be divided only by the short pause ; while they 
must be separated from other clauses with which they are less 
connected, by the middle pause. 



These are the men,* 1 to whom,* 1 - 

arrayedin all the terrors of government,* 1 1 would say,* 1 - 
you shall not degrade us into brutes. 

If, in this sentence, we make a short pause only after to 
whom, the next clause of the sentence, arrayed in all the terrors 
of government, would appear to refer to the men to whom ; 
whereas, being separated, as it is, from those words, by the 
middle pause, it is assigned to the pronoun 2, to which it 
really belongs. 

The middle pause is also frequently used in place of the 
grammatical period or full stop, between two sentences, which 
are closely allied to each other in relation to the sense whicl 
they bear out, — as will be presently shown. 

3. The Kest, -, or Full Pause, 

Marks the perfection of the sense, that is, the 
climax of its force ; as, the close of a proposition. 

The full-stop, which is used in grammatical 
punctuation to mark the close of a sentence or 
period, is not a sufficiently distinct guide ; for it fre- 
quently closes a sentence which is intimately allied 

F 



GQ AKT OF ELOCUTION 

by the continuity of the sense, with the next, and 
perliaps with several succeeding periods. In such 
cases, the punctum or full-stop which marks the 
grammatical close of a sentence, should be rejected 
in reading ; the middle pause should be used in its 
stead ; and the rest or full pause should not be 
introduced till the actual winding up of all the 
sentences which have a close relation to each other 
in continuing or carrying out the sense to jis climax 
or perfect close. 

Take the following sentences, with their gram- 
matical punctuation, as an — 



Logicians may reason may reason about abstractions, 
but the great mass of mankind can never feel an in- 
terest in them. They must have images. 

Kow here the second short sentence is intimately connected 
with, and, in its relation to the sense, forms part of the first ; 
in fact, it completes and closes the proposition which the first 
sentence opened and began. Yet it is divided from that first 
sentence (with which, in its relation to the sense, it is so inti- 
mately connected) by the grammatical full-stop or period ; and 
yet the close of the whole proposition contained in these two- 
sentences admits, in grammatical punctuation, of no greater 
division from what may follow, in support and illustration of 
that proposition, than the same period or full-stop, which has 
been already used to separate the two parts of the whole pro- 
position. This is illogical. The two sentences should thus be 
relatively marked and read with rhetorical pause : — 

Logicians may reason about abstractions,** 1 - but the 
great mass of mankind* 1 can never feel an interest in 
them** 1 - They must have images. - 



LONG PAUSE. 67 

"For further illustration, I give the following sentences, 
marked both grammatically and rhetorically, by which it will 
be seen that the period or full-stop is frequently used when 
the middle pause is sufficient, and indeed absolutely necessary, 
to keep tip the continuity of the sense, or the carrying out of 
an idea ; and that, at the full close of the relation between the 
sentences so divided by the middle pause, and not till then, — 
the full pause should have place. 

EXAMPLE, 

I have always preferred cheerfulness** 1 to mirth.** 1 - The 
latter I consider as an act,** 1 the former** 1 as a habit of the 
mind.'** 1 - Mirth** 1 is short and transient,*' 1 cheerfulness** 1 fixed 
and permanent.**''- Those are often raised into the greatest 
transports of mirth** 1 who are subject to the greatest depres- 
sion of melancholy i*" 1 - on the contrary* 1 , cheerfulness,** 1 
though it does not give the mind such an exquisite gladness** 1 , 
prevents us falling into such a depth of sorrow.** 1 - Mirth** 1 is 
like a flash of lightning**' that breaks through a gloom of 
clouds** 1 and glitters for a moment j** 1 - cheerfulness*"' keeps up 
a kind of daylight in the mind,** 1 - and fills it with a steady 
and perpetual serenity. — 

Now, each of the above sentences is intimately connected 
with the succeeding one. Each is only an amplification md 
illustration of the original proposition, which it serves to 
establish and carry completely out. They cannot therefore 
logically admit of a greater separation by pause than that 
which I have marked above : their final close alone can be 
marked a'itli the fail petite. 



F 2 



68 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

4. Long Pause, i , or Bar-rest, 

Marks the close of a subject, or of an important 
division of it. 

It precedes— 

The change from one division of a discourse to another ; 
A new train of ideas or course of argument ; 
A return from a digression, or from excited declamation 
to calm statement and logical discussion. 

This pause affords an opportunity to correct the tone or 
pitch of voice, which may have reached a high range in the 
excitement of earnest argument or intense feeling, and will 
therefore require to be lowered for the relief both of speaker 
and hearer. In this latter regard the long pause is of great 
use and assistance to the reader and the orator. 

The system of Rhetorical Pause deserves the 
student's best attention ; for its proper application 
will contribute greatly to the perspicuity and effect 
of his discourse, as well as to his own ease in deli- 
very ? by a just economy of breath. 

Let him now read aloud the following marked 

EXERCISE ON PAUSE, 

SENSED TASTE* 1 AND GENIUS.- 

USHEB. 

The human genius* 1 with the best assistance* 1 
breaks forth but slowly** 1 - and the greatest men** 1 
have but gradually acquired a just taste* 1 and 
chaste* 1 simple* 1 conceptions of beauty- At an 



EXERCISE ON PAUSE, 69 

immature age** 1 the sense of beauty*' 1 is weak and 
confused'*' 1 - and requires an excess of colouring*" 1 to 
catch the attention" 1- It then** 1 prefers extravagance 
and rant" 1 to justness" 1- a gross false wit** 1 to the 
engaging light of nature**- and the showy" 1 rich" 1 
and glaring *? to the fine "* and amiable - This" 1 is 
the childhood of taste" 1 " but" 1 as the human genius 
strengthens and grows to maturity"- if it be as- 
sisted by a happy education" 1 the sense of universal 
beauty awakes" 1 - it begins to be disgusted" 1 with 
the false" 1 and mis-shapen deceptions" 1 that pleased 
before" 1- and rests" 1 with delight" 1 on elegant sim- 
plicity'* 3 on pictures of easy beauty" 1 and unaffected 
grandeur - 1 - 

The progress of the fine arts* 1 in the human 
mind" 1 may be fixed" 1 at three remarkable degrees * n - 
from their foundation" 1 to the loftiest height- The 
basis is a sense of beauty" 1 and of the sublime" 1 " the 
second step" 1 we may call taste" 1- and the last'* 1 
genius t 

A sense of the beautiful" 1 and of the great" 1 is 
universal" 1- which appears** 1 from the uniformity 
thereof* 1 in the most distant ages and nations - 
What was engaging and sublime" 1 in ancient 
Greece and Rome" 1 is so at this day" 1- and" 1 as I 
observed before" 1 there is not the least necessity" 1 
of improvement or science" 1 to discover the charms 
of a graceful or noble deportment" 1- There is a 
fine" 1 but an ineffectual" 1 light" 1 in the breast of 
man - After nightfall* 1 we have admired the planet 
Venus" 1- the beauty" 1 and vivacity of her lustre" 1 
the immense distance" 1 from which we judged her 

V 3 



70 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

beams issued ' and the silence of the night** 1- all 
concurred* 1 to strike us with an agreeable amaze- 
ment^ 1- But she shone'* 1 in distinguished beauty*! 
without giving sufficient light** 1 to direct our steps* 1 
or show us the objects around- Thus* 1 in un- 
improved nature* 1 the light of the mind* 1 is bright* 1 
and useless - In utter barbarity* 1 our prospect of 
it* 1 is still less fixed* 1 - it appears ** and then 
again* 1 seems wholly to vanish* 1 in the savage 
breast* 1- like the same planet Venus* 1 when she 
has but just raised her orient beams* 1 to mariners* 1 
above the waves* 1- and is now descried* 1 now lost* 1 
through the swelling billows i 

The next step* 1 is taste* 1- the subject of our in- 
quiry* 1- which consists"* 1 in a distinct* 1 unconfused 
knowledge* 1 of the great and beautiful- Although 
you see not many" 1 possessed of good taste* 1- yet 
the generality of mankind" are capable of it - The 
very populace of Athens* 1 had acquired a good 
taste* 1 by habit and fine examples* 1- so that a 
delicacy of judgment* 1 seemed natural*' to all who 
breathed the air of that elegant city* 1- We find a 
manly and elevated sense* 1 distinguish the common 
people of Rome* 1 and of all the cities of Greece* 1 - 
while the level of mankind* 1 was preserved in those 
cities* - while the plebeians had a share in the 
government* 1 and an utter separation was not 
made* 1 between them and the nobles* 1 by wealth 
and luxury* 1- But" 1 when once the common peo- 
ple* 1 are rent asunder" 1 wholly* 1 from the great and 
opulent* 1 and made subservient* 1 to the luxury of 
the latter* 1- then* 1 the taste of nature* 1 infallibly 



EXEKCISE ON PAUSE. 71 

takes her flight from both parties* 1 - The poor" 1 by 
a sordid habit and an attention wholly confined to 
mean views" 1- and the rich by an attention to the 
changeable modes of fancy* 1 and a vitiated prefer- 
ence* 1 for the rich and costly* 1- lose the view of 
simple beauty and grandeur - 

It may seem a paradox* 1 " and yet "' I am firmly 
persuaded" 1 that it would be easier ^ at this day* 1 
to give a good taste* 1 to the young savages ^i 
America'* 1 " than to the noble youth of Europe I 

Genius" 1 the pride of man*" 1 as man is of the 
creation" 1 has been possessed but by few* 1 even in 
the brightest ages - Men of superior genius* 1- while 
they see the rest of mankind"' painfully struggling" 1 
to comprehend obvious truths* 1 ^ glance* 1 them- 
selves* 1 through the most remote consequences'* 1 
like lightning" 1 through a path* 1 that cannot be 
traced^'" They see the beauties of nature* 1 with 
light and warmth* 1 and paint them forcibly* 1 with- 
out effort* 1 " as the morning sun* 1 does the scenes he 
rises upon* 1 " and" 1 in several instances* 1 com- 
municate to objects* 1 a morning freshness* 1 and 
unaccountable lustre* 1 that is not seen in the crea- 
tion of nature- The poet* 1 the statuary* 1 the 
painter* 1 have produced images* 1 that left nature 
far behind i 



F 4 



ART OF ELOCUTION. 



2. INFLECTION. 

The human voice is to be considered as a 
musical instrument— an organ ; constructed by the 
hand of the Great Master of all Harmony. It has 
its bellows, its pipe, its mouth-piece; and when we 
know the " stops " "It will discourse most eloquent 
music." It has its gamut, or scale of ascent and 
descent; it has its keys, or pitch, — its tones, — its 
semi-tones, its bass, its tenor, its alt, — its melody, 
its cadence. It can speak as gently as the lute, 
"like the sweet south upon a bed of violets," or as 
shrilly as the trumpet; it can tune the " silver 
sweet " note of love, and " the iron throat of war ; 9 
in fine, it may be modulated by art to any sound of 
softness or of strength, of gentleness or harshness, 
of harmony, or discord. And the art that wins 
this music from the strings is Elocution. The 
niceties and refinements of this art are to be 
acquired, step by step, by well-directed practice. 

At present, let us learn a simple ascent (or rise), 
and descent (or fall), of the voice ; of the range of 
—-say one tone in music, upwards or downwards. 
This ascent or descent of the voice is called by 
Elocutionists, Inflection*, and they have two — 

Simple Inflections. 

The rising inflection, marked with the acute accent thus 

on the inflected word. 

The falling inflection, marked with the grave accent thus ^^ 
* The correct term for this slide of the voice, or change of 



INFLECTION. 73 

The student may always, at will, strike these in- 
flections with certainty by asking himself the fol- 
lowing question, which can hardly be spoken 
without making the inflections distinctly, as they 
are marked : — 

EXAMPLE. 
Did I rise or fall ? 

In which the rising inflection occurs on the word rise, and 
the falling inflection on the word fall. It can therefore never 
be forgotten, and may serve as a mnemonic or key to these 
two simple inflections. 

This and similar questions run on an ascending and de- 
scending scale of the voice, which may be thus indicated : — 




In which the voice descends on "Do I" — ascends on "rise" 
the pitch being at the highest on " or," when the voice imme- 
diately descends on "fall." 

pitch from low to high, is doubtless accent We derive the 
grave and acute accents from the Greeks, who, it is supposed, 
used them to denote the slides of the voice from grave to 
sharp, or low to high ; so that it is believed by some that the 
speeches of their orators could be marked, almost as minutely 
as a musical score, for the direction of the voice. But the 
term accent has, by custom, now grown to be so constantly 
applied to stress upon a syllable, that I prefer to adopt the 
less technically correct, but equally intelligible term, inflection, 
to denote the slides of the voice; and to use the term accent 
in its present popularly received sense. 



74 ART OF KU/CJDTION. 

This ascent of the voice, or rising inflection, 
varies in its ordinary range from one tone to three. 
The pitch increases as the force of the speaker 
increases. In ordinary speech, where no particular 
force is given — in a perfectly indifferent question, 
for example, — the rise would not be more than of 
one tone. Such a question, for example, as, — 

" Will my brother come ? " 

asked quite indifferently, would receive an ascent 
of owe tone: asked with interest, would receive an 
ascent of three tones ; asked eagerly, would rise jive 
tones ; and asked with a passionate expression, or of 
wonder, would rise even an octave ; but, in reading 
or speaking with any degree of force, the simple 
rising inflection is usually over an interval of three 
tones (a third) ; and the descent of the falling 
inflection is over the same interval. And the 
change of pitch is discrete; that is, the voice leaps 
directly and abruptly from tone to tone ; whereas, 
in the greater ascent of a fifth, and an octave, it is 
concrete ; that is, it slides over the interval, slurring 
the intermediate tones: this distinction will be 
more fully explained under the head of compound 
inflections. 

To facilitate and familiarise to the pupil's ear and voice 
the distinction between the rising and falling inflection, let 
him practise the tonic sounds, upon the following plan of 
rising and falling on each. 

This practice will be of great service in improving the pitch 
of the voice, and giving it facility and pliability. The stu- 
dent should therefore practise it till he can strike the third, 
rising and falling, clearly, forcibly, and with certainty. 



INFLECTION. 



75 




76 ART OF ELOCUTION. 



INFLECTIONS TO MARK THE SENSE. 

The popular or common direction — drop your 
voice at the end of a sentence — is illogical and 
false ; and is the cause of a very general bad habit 
with young readers, and one which they seldom 
shake - off in after-life except under good instruc- 
tion, — that of letting the voice sink in pitch and 
tone and fulness on the concluding word or words 
of every sentence ; the effect of which is, that the 
last words of a sentence which are essential to com- 
plete the whole sense, — and without which the 
auditor ca?^ only guess at the speaker's meaning, — 
are not heard at all ; or, if even heard, are deprived 
of all force, by the listless manner in which they 
fall from the moutla. This is, of all things, to be 
avoided. The last words of a sentence are as im- 
portant as the first, — indeed, they are generally 
more so : therefore let them have always full enun- 
ciation and weight in delivery ; or your meaning 
will be imperfect and uncertain. 

The inflection proper to the close of a sentence 
depends upon the form or nature of that sentence : 
whether it be affirmative,— negative, or interro- 
gative ; or whether the full sense be complete sfr 
suspended ; foi\ as a principle, the rising inflection 
is the mark of incomplete sense, as the falling in- 
flection denotes the close or completion of the sense 
of a sentence ; and the inflection required is regu- 
lated by the condition of the sense. 



INFLECTION § 7 

KULE& 
1 Affirmative sense. 

A simple unqualified affirmative is marked with the falling 
inflection : as, — 

I have just returned : I have been long absent. 

Julius Caesar conquered at Pharsafia. 

2. Negative sense — 
is marked with the rising inflection: as,— 

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts. 

The quality of mercy is not strained. 

This is not a time for adulation. 

It is not a book I want. 

Note that the rising inflection is to be placed on the word ot 
idea negatived ; the negative particle not has usually a falling 
inflection, for force ; and when the denial is intended to be em- 
phatic, it will be marked by the falling inflection : as, — 

I will not stay. 

This book is not mine. 

I denied you not. 

From the above rules it follows, that, — 

la a sentence containing an affirmative in one 
branch of it, and a negative or denial in the other,— 



? 5 ART Of ELOCUTION. 

3. The affirmative part of the sentence receives the falling 
inflection, the negative part iLe rising inflection ; whatever 
may be the construction of the sentence as to the precedence 
of the one branch or the other : as, — 

I said good, not bad : virtuous, not vicious. 

He was condemned for his crimes, not for his political 
opinions. 

This book is not mine, but yours. 

This letter is yours, not mine. 

This is not a time for adulation ; it is necessary to speak 
the plain truth. 

You sail you were coming home, but you did not come ; 
you went another way. 

No; I did not. 

But an affirmative clause, forming part of the whole negative, 
shall receive the rising inflection : as, — 

We shall not be condemned because we have spoken 
truth: i.e., our having spoken truth will not condemn us. 

He was not punished on account of his political opinions: 

i.e., it was not on account of his political opinions that 
he was punished. 
The reading would be quite different if the same clause 
were intended to be affirmative in meaning, though occur- 
ring in a negative sentence : as, — 

We shall not be condemned because we have spoken 

truth : i, c, our truth will save us. 

lie was not punished on account of his political opinions: 
i.e., his political opinions saved him from punishment. 



INFLECTION. 79 

4. The Imperative sense — 
requires the falling inflection. 

Swear not at all. 

Agree with thine adversary qtilok'/* 

Thcu &kalt not steal. 

Hence, horrible shadow! 

Unreal mockery, hence! 

Let me hear no more! 

Speak, I charge you ! 

5. Interrogative sense — 

is marked by the rising inflection: *.s, — 

Did he say he would come? 
Will he be here to-day? 

Is a candle brought to be put under a bushel, oi andera 
bed?*— (Mark iv. 21.) 

EXCEPTIONS AND REMARKS. 

Questions asked with an interrogative pronoun or adverb—- 
who, which, what, when, where, &c. : as, — 

Who said he would come ? Why so? 

What said he? 
Whose house is this? 

* See Introduction to this work, in reply to the Kt.Rev. Dr 
Whateiy's Elements of Khetoric, Part IV, c ii § 12- 



SO ART OF ELQCI^TION. 

When will he be here ? 

The alternative part of a question also requires the falling 
inflection: as, — 

Will he live*" or die? 

Did he say he would come*" or did he say he would 

not? 

But the introduction of the disjunctive or, between two 
interrogative clauses, does not necessarily imply an alter- 
native ; or is frequently a connecting particle between similar 
and apposite ideas * ; in such cases, both clauses of the inter- 
rogative will take the rising inflection ; and the second will 
be frequently higher and stronger than the first. 

EXAMPLES. 

Do men gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles ? 
Is a candle brought to be put under a bushel, or under a 

ted? 
Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust? 

Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 

In these examples or is rather cora-junctive than c?w-junctive; 
that is, it serves to unite like ideas, not to separate dissimilar 
ones ; and the inflection on each clause must therefore be 
alike. 

Even Elocutionists frequently overlook this distinction, and 
consequently mark and read passages falsely. 

A slated or quoted question, occurring in an affirmative 
sentence, requires the falling inflection : as, — 

The question is — shall we proceed ? 
* See Apposition. 



KMPHASIS. 8 i 

He desires me to ask you — will you persevere ? 

But, 

Such stated or quoted question occurring in a simple inter- 
rogative or negative sentence, will receive the inflection due to 
the sentence : as, — 

Will you still go about and ask one another — what 
news? 

I did not ask, what news? 

For it is the condition of the sense— i. e., whether finished 
or unfinished, — that governs the inflection due to a sentence. 

Departures from the above general rules of in- 
flection are occasionally made for force and effect 
under the power of emphasis. 



3. EMPHASIS 

Is a word of Greek origin and form, adopted into 
our language ; its derivation is ev (on) and §r\\ii 
(to speak), or (pavig {speech) : according to which, 
therefore, emphasis strictly signifies a speaking 
(strongly) upon ; or, as it is popularly called, a 
stress of the voice upon a certain word, or words, to 
which a particular meaning or force is attached, 
and particular attention desired : and this is called 

the emphatic word ; I denote it by this line 

written under the word, thus : — 

He spaVs for religion, not againsf iU 
G 



82 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

This book is mine, that yours. 

In the utterance of the above sentences, the 
words marked as emphatic receive an impulse or 
explosive force of sound, which distinguishes their 
power and importance above the other w r ords. 
Just in the same manner as what we call the ac- 
cented syllable in any word is marked by stress, or 
stroke of sound, from the other syllables with which 
it is combined : as in the words- — 

/ / / / • 

vir-tue, wzer-ciful, pol-icy, resolu-tion, cow-stancy, 

in which the stress, or impulse of sound, is thrown 
on to one particular syllable, which is popularly 
called the accented*, but more properly, the heavy 
syllable, in contradiction to the light, or, as they 
are called, unaccented syllables ; which have no 
weight of sound, or stress upon them : so, in a 
sentence, the stress or emphasis being thrown, by 
an impulse of sound, on any particular word, that 
word is called the emphatic word. And, in fact, 
this emphasis, when applied to a word, falls always 
on the accented or heavy syllable of the word, 
doubling the stress upon it. We shall presently 
see that emphasis requires, to be complete, not 
only stress, but inflection ; and that that inflection 
is governed by the character of the emphasis. 

But, first, it is proper to observe here the dis- 
tinction between our language and that of the 

* See Inflection, and note to p. 72. 



EMPHASIS. 83 

Greeks and Romans, who measured the march of 
their language by quantity, or long ""and short ^ 
syllables : and all the words of their language had 
a certain and fixed prosodial quantity ; according 
to which their verses are supposed to have been 
constructed and scanned or measured. Our lan- 
guage, on the contrary, acknowledges no fixed and 
certain quantity to its syllables ; the distinction 
between which is of light and heavy, not of long 
and short : for the length or time of utterance to be 
given to a word or syllable in our language, is 
regulated not by any fixed prosodial rule (to which 
it is not amenable), but by other circumstances of 
a varying nature ; as, its force and value to the 
sense, or the amount of feeling that is to be con- 
veyed by or upon it ; so that in our versification, it 
constantly happens that, in its relative proportion 
in a line, the same word is sometimes long, some- 
times short; and indeed, it will be manifest to any 
ear, that monosyllables, such as care, there, loud, 
bold, &c. may be prolonged at will to any indefinite 
time, so as to give to them the quantity of a quaver, 
a crotchet, a minim, or even a semibreve. This 
clearly does away with the idea of a settled rule of 
quantity in our language ; the rhythmus (or order) 
cf which is governed by another principle, that of 
the regular arrangement of heavy and light sounds, 
or syllables; and this it is, not quantity, which 
makes the rhythm of English versification. This 
will be more fully treated of under the head of 
" Time? in the chapter devoted to the Beading oj 
Verse. 
Here it is necessary to remark, that there is a 
q 2 



84 



ART OF ELOCUTION. 



certain rhythmical, or measured, movement even m 
prose ; not so regularly preserved as in verse., but 
still requiring to be noted and marked in reading. 

In some elaborate compositions, indeed, where 
the cadences are very regular, the rhythm and time 
are preserved with much exactness ; and it is a 
great beauty in elocution to mark them by the 
pulsation and remission of the voice, on the heavy 
and light syllables respectively, and by a due ob- 
servance of time or measure. 

Take, as an example, the following, by Dr. John- 
son, in common time : The notation is only to show 
the time, and the barring marks the rhythmical ac- 
centuation : — 



2 



pa jeNi 



f* 



p* 



i i 



V / / / 

Sir the a- tro- cious crime of be~ing a 







I I 



I pa pg pu 
i I ess pfc 
& ® & & 



pa psa 



young man which the hon- our -a- ble gen-tle-man 



has 



I I 

Q 



1110 



pas psal 

I I 
G 



with such spi- rit and de- cen- cy 



pa psj j 

I I I 



pa ^ 



charged up- on me 



I shall neith- er at- 



EMPHASIS. 



85 



1 ® 



P*i P* 
I 1 



pa ^ 

l I 



I 




tempt to pal- K- ate 



pi pa 

i 



I 



nor de- nyj 



but con- tent my 
Pi 



self 



1 m t*\ i 

pa ^ I \ 



I 







with wish- ing 



i 



that I may be one 



fol- lies 

r I 



of those whore 

^ pa 

I ) 

may cease with their youth, 

pa pa 



m 



i 



i 



pa pa 

I I 



and not of that num-ber 



I 1 I 

m m m 



ig- no- rant 



r n 



aaj pat 



m m 



in spite of ex- 



© m 



who are 

I P* Pa 
I i 
0* 



pe- 



ri- ence. 



In this example I have marked the accented or heavy sylla- 
bles which require pulsation of voice ; and it will be observed 
that the first note of the bar is always accented, or its place is 
supplied by a rest or pause, which, with the other notes, fills 
up the cadence, and completes the bar; for res's or pauses are 
as essential a part of the rhythm as the notes themselves, and, 
in verse especially, it is on their due and proportionate ob- 
G 3 



86 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

servance, as well as of the heavy and light syllables, that 
rhythm depends. All this is more fully explained hereafter : 
but I thought thus much, on the subject of quantity and stress 
(or accent) necessary to be remarked before proceeding With 
Emphasis, of which stress is an essential constituent. 

The power of emphasis to strengthen or change 
the meaning of any sentence is very great; and its 
proper use in delivery adds greatly to the point and 
power of a discourse ; hence some orators are called 
emphatic speakers, when it is intended that their 
style is pointed and forcible. But Emphasis is not 
mere/?/ stress or weight of voice : it is made up of 
stress and inflection ; accordingly, — 

Emphasis is stress and inflection of voice. 
There are two principal kinds of Emphasis— 

1. Emphasis of sense. 

2. Emphasis of force, 

1. Emphasis of sense is that emphasis which 
marks and indicates the meaning or sense of the 
sentence; and which being transferred from word 
to word, has power to change and vary the par- 
ticular meaning of such sentence. In other words, 
it is the placing on the particular word which 
carries the main point of the sentence, or member of 
the sentence, the inflection due to such sentence or 
member, and giving weight or emphasis to such in- 
fection :— the w 7 ord so marked and distinguished is 
called the emphatic word* 



EMPHASIS. 87 

RULE. 

To make the emphasis of sense throw the inflection proper 
to the sentence, or member of it, on the emphatic word ; and 
give weight or stress on that inflection ; that is, let the ascent 
or descent, as the inflection may be rising or falling, take a 
greater range of pitch, high or low, with an impulse of 
voice. 

Thus— - 

The following interrogative sentence requires the rising 
inflection. Now, by placing tlrat inflection on any one word 
and at the same time giving weight or stress to that inflection 
— the sense will be emphasised on that particular word ; and 
as the emphasis of sense is changed from word to word, tli3 
point of the sense will be varied accordingly. 

Did you walk home to-day? 
or. 

Did you walk home to-day? 
or, 

Did you walk home to-day? 
or, 

Did you walk home to-day? 
or, 

Did you walk home to-day? 

The emphasis of sense, therefore, points the in* 
flection and meaning of a sentence, or member of 
it, on some particular word: and the inflection is 
rising or falling according to the rule applicable to 
the particular sentence, or member of it, in which 
that word occurs. 

G 4 



S3 ART OP ELOCUTION. 

Now, suppose the above question were asked 
quite indifferently, without any point at all, merely 
"for something to say," the rising inflection at the 
end of the interrogative could not be higher than 
a semitone, or a full tone at most ; but if the inquiry 
were made with a point on any of the words 
marked emphatic above, the inflection of inter- 
rogation transferred to that particular word would 
take an ascent of a third octave tone in ordinary 
conversation ; or of a ffth y in a very earnest in- 
quiry : and the greater the range of pitch given 
to the inflection, the greater the force of the em- 
phasis. 

There are branches of the emphasis of sense 
incidental to particular rules of* inflection ; as, — 

Antithetical Emphasis — 

Emphasis with pronominal phrase, &c. 

of which I shall speak under the proper heads. 

2. Emphasis of force, or, it might be called Em- 
phasis of feeling, is that emphasis or stress which a 
speaker uses arbitrarily to add force to some par- 
ticular idea or expression ; not because the sense 
or meaning intended to be conveyed requires it, — 
but because the force of his own feeling or will 
dictates it. 

KULE. 

The emphasis of force is always made with the falling 
inflection. 



EMPHASIS. SJ 

EXAMPLES. 

Could you be so cruel ? 

(Conveying Is it possible ! I am surprised you could be, Lc.) 

Could you be so cruel ? 

(That is, so exceedingly cruel.) 

I did not say so. 
(That is, I deny it most strongly.') 

These sentences - interrogative and negative — by ordinary 
rule, would have the rising inflection; but the emphasis of 
force being placed on the word could or cruel, and not, gives 
them the falling inflection, without at all affecting the sense — ■ 
though it gives force to the intention of the speaker. 

Emphasis of force placed on a conjunction, or 
other ordinarily trivial word, will give it an. in- 
tention and particular significance ; as, — 

You may follow your own course in this matter if you 
please, but' 1 you will take the consequence of your 
obstinacy. 

The" force thus placed on " but" gives it an admonitoiy 
significance; as if the speaker should say, "Bear in mind, I 
warned you." 

RULE. 

Emphasis of force introduced into a declaratory sentence 
in affirmative form, and placed on the verb, will govern (that 
is, require) a rising inflection on the objective or succeeding 
phrase. 

For example, — ■ 

I make the simple declaration, as a truth that may be uni- 
versally acknowledged, viz. 



90 AltT OF ELOCUTION. 

In the prosecution of a virtuous enterprise, a brave man 

despises danger and difficulty. 

Thus inflected and pronounced the sentence is a 
mere truism; but if I myself, or a friend, be 
engaged in some scheme for the public good not 
devoid of danger and difficulty to himself or me, 
and doubts be made by an opponent whether we 
will proceed to the end, through all the dangers 
and difficulties that oppose us; then if, in the course 
of reply to such doubts, I were to express myself 
as above, I should certainly show my contempt of 
the idea of cowardice or want of resolution suggested, 
by placing an emphasis of force on the word " des- 
pises" and the sentence, then, would read thus : — 

In the prosecution of a virtuous enterprise a brave man** 1 
despises danger and difficulty. 

So, if the form of the sentence be changed, the 
rising inflection will still close it, after the emphasis 
of force. 

In the prosecution of a virtuous enterprise, danger and 

difficulty are despised *' 1 by a brave man. 

Again, — 

A brave man despises danger and difficulty in the pro- 
secution of a virtuous enterprise. 

Bear in mind, therefore, that this emphasis of 
force, when it is made, is independent of and para- 



EXCESS OF EMPHASIS. 91 

mount to all general rule of inflection ; which it 
controls and over-rules. 

Emphasis of force is sometimes doubled; as, — 

Could you be so cruel? 

In which the force is thrown on two words, and expresses as 
much as if the speaker said, — 

Can it be possible that you are what I consider so shock- 
ingly cruel ! 

There is also cumulative or accumulated em- 
phasis of force ; that is, when the emphasis is 
heaped or accumulated on several words in succes- 
sion ; as, — 

I tell you, I will not do it; nothing on earth shall 

persuade me. 

This is the strongest expression of force by 
emphasis. I shall have occasion to illustrate it 
more fully hereafter. 



EXCESS OF EMPHASIS OP FORCE. 

The continual use of this emphasis is to be 
avoided, not only as unpleasing in its effect on the 
ear, but as tending, from repetition, to defeat its very 
object. Relief of loud and soft, strong and gentle, 
is as necessary to elocution as are light and shade 
to a picture: and he who is continually hammering 
the ear with reiterated strokes of emphasis, instead 



.92 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

of being really a powerful speaker, will weary and 
disgust the good taste of his auditors. Kon semper 
tendit arcum Apollo: nor should the orator be always 
straining for force and effect : the " use all gently " 
of Shakspere cannot be too often repeated, nor too 
reverently observed. Exaggeration is the rock 
a-hcad of the young and enthusiastic artist. 
" Pry thee ! avoid it! " 



PERIODS AND LOOSE SENTENCES. 

SUSPENSION OF VOICE — INFLECTION. 

Dr. Whately defines a period to be "any 
sentence which is so framed that the grammatical 
construction will not admit of a close before the 
end of it ; in which, in short, the meaning remains 
suspended, as it were, till the whole is finished. A 
loose sentence, on the contrary, is any that is not a 
period ; any whose construction will allow of a stop 
so as to form a perfect sentence at one or more 
places before we arrive at the end." — Elements of 
Rhetoric, Part III., c. 11. § 12. 

Adopting these definitions, it will be necessary 
to observe some general rules for the inflection of 
simple sentences, periods, and loose sentences, which 
shall make them not only easy of delivery to the 
speaker, but easy to be followed by the hearer. 

" An unexpected continuation of a sentence," says 
Dr. Whately, " which the reader had supposed to be 
concluded, especially if, in reading aloud, he had 9 
under that supposition, dropped his voice, is apt to 



LOOSE SENTENCES. 93 

produce a sensation in the mind of being dis- 
agreeably baulked ; analogous to the unpleasant jar 
which is felt when, in ascending or descending 
stairs, we meet with a step more than we expected : 
and if this be often repeated, as in a very loose 
sentence, a kind of weary impatience results from 
the uncertainty when the sentence is to close." 

Now, this is perfectly true ; and the illustration 
of the false step on the staircase is admirably 
expressive of the stumbling uncertainty of a bad 
reader floundering through the clauses of a loose 
sentence. Very loose sentences frequently occurring 
may be, no doubt, a great defect in style ; but it is 
in the power of a skilful reader or speaker so to 
deliver even the loosest sentence as to make it hang 
together with some consistency, and to soften down 
its jagged and broken effect. 

I will take the following example which Dr. 
Whately gives of a very loose sentence ; in which, 
as, he observes, there are "no less than five places 
marked by dashes ( — ), at any one of which the 
sentence might be terminated, so as to be gram- 
matically perfect/'* 

Dr. Whately's example of a loose sentence :« — 

"We came to our journey's end — at last — with no small 
difficulty — after much fatigue — through deep roads — 
and bad weather." 

Now, the above sentence, loose as it is, may be 

* Elements of Ehetoric, Part III., c. 2. § 12. ; see also the 
sentence from the Liturgy, p. 133. of this work. 



94 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

so read or delivered as to appear compact and 
smooth, "teres atque rotundus;" thus, — 

"We came to our journey's end at last, with no small 
difficulty ^-after much fatigue* 1 through deep roads and 
bad weather." 

I should myself very much prefer the loose sen- 
tence, read as marked above, for its superior ease 
and naturalness, to the formal period into which it 
is converted by Dr. Whately ; viz.,— 

" At last, after much fatigue, through deep roads and 
had weather, we came with no small difficulty to our 
journey's end." 

Every one, I think, must feel that this period is 
very much too set and formal for the matter, and 
has a pedantic tone. For my own part, I hold that 
loose sentences judiciously employed in a spoken 
oration, tend to give it force, and an appearance 
of spontaneity; while the perpetual use of the more 
formal period is apt to throw an air of premeditation 
and artifice over the whole. But it lies with the 
reader or speaker to impart ease and smoothness 
to the loosest sentence, so that it shall come 
"trippingly from the tongue ;" by the aid of correct 
pause and just inflection. 

Supposing that the "dashes" marked hy Dr. 
Whately indicate a pause and fall of the voice at 
each dash, then we shall have the sentence delivered 
in the very perfection of bad reading, and the 
false steps on the stairs will be painfully felt; 
thus : — 



LOOSE SENTENCES. °'5 

" We came to our journey's end — at last — with no small 
difficulty — after much fatigue — through deep roads — 
and bad weather." 

Now, there are persons who read just in that 
bungling, uncertain manner, — persons, too, who 
perfectly understand the meaning of what they are 
reading, but have not the least idea (for want of 
some system) of the mode of conveying that mean- 
ing to others ; and Dr. Whately's happy illustration 
of the effect of a loose sentence has reference to the 
ear, in the reading of it: a tacit admission that the 
good or bad effect of such a sentence may be 
diminished or increased by the manner in which it 
is read : from which it would seem to follow that 
some principles for the reading of periods and loose 
sentences must be of service. 

Observe, then, in the first place, that there is a 
distinction between suspension of voice, — by which 
I mean holding the voice up, and not letting it fall 
— and a rising inflection, which, as we have seen, 
is an ascent of the voice. 

Inflection marks and denotes meaning, and shows 
the points of the sense ; suspension of voice accom- 
panies suspension of sense while it is in the process 
vj foimation ; and the rising inflection denotes the 
highest point of suspended sense ; and the full and 
perfect close of the sense is marked by the falling 
inflection. 

In reading or speaking earnestly these inflections 
will be of three tones, ascending or descending 
respectively. 



96 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

General Rules, 
periods, 

1. The voice must be suspended till h takes an inflation 
under some rule, — indicated by the point of the meaning 1 , cr 
for force; and the last word of the suspended sense trnme- 
diatety preceding that on which the formation of complete 
sense begins, must be marked with a distinct rising inflection } 
the close of the sense with a falling inflection. 

example. 

Those who have the (fewest resources in themselves'*'- 

naturally seek the food of their self-love elsewhere. 

2. The rising inflection at this point of suspension serve?, 
with a pause, equally to divide a simple sentence of two 
clauses, separating and marking the opening or incomplete 
part, from the close, or perfect sense. 

EXAMPLES. 

The feelings of a gentleman* 1 

only denote a more refined humanity. 
One touch of nature ^ 

makes the whole world kin. 

So, in a sentence opening with a hypothesis* the hvpothes'ta 
must have the rising, the conclusion the falling, inflection : a«J r — 

If the world is not the work of chr.nce^- 

it must have had an intelligent Maker. 

The. following sentence (consisting simply, in 
the first instance, of what logicians would call the 



LOOSE SENTENCES. G7 

" subject" and the "predicate") amplified by degrees 
and enlaced into a period, may serve practically to 
illustrate the above rules as to suspension and inflec- 
tion : — 

1. Grace of manners* 1 is charming. 

*, Crrace cf manners** 1 

is charming in every one. 

3. Grace of manners"* 1 

charming in every one** 5 - 
to princes is essential. 

4. Grace of manners** 1 

charming in every one** 1 - 

is"* 1 to princes** 1 
as essential* 1 as more solid 
accomplishments. 
&. Grace of manners** 1 

charming in every one** 1 - 
is** 1 to princes** 1 - as essential* 8 

as more solid accomplishments* 1 
are to private individuals. 

Loose Sentences. 

If the sense be completed before the close of the sentence, 
the falling inflection must mark it ; unless the &L&ases which 
follow are necessary to the- whole proposition. 
H 



58 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

EXAMPLE. 

Unlimited powers is apt to corrupt the minds of" those 

who possess it* 1 - 

and where law ends, tyranny begins. 

This sentence evidently contains two distinct propositions; 
and though they are connected by the coniuncticr aiiJ, the 
close of the first must be marked with the falling inflection. 

ANOTHER EXAMPLE. 

Overtures for peace"* 1 were, however, rejected *i- 
and not merely rejected" 1 
but rejected with insult 

Here the sense is complete in the first clause — the fact is 
distinctly stated ; it is therefore marked with a falling inflec- 
tion: for what follows is an addition not necessary or essential 
to its full force, though it contains an accumulated and 
aggravating circumstance. 

So in the following: — 
With a heart panting for freedom, and filled with love 
for my country, I approached the shores of my native 
land; but r ilas! freedom and my country were no 
more * they had fallen together. 

The following loose sentence and its amplifications may 
serve to make this principle clearer: — 

1, Grace of manners** 1 

ri charming, ~ 1 - 

and never fails to pie&d*. 



LOOSE SENTENCES. 99 



2* Grace of manners* 1 

is chaiming in every one **- 
and never fails to please, 
8, Grace of manners* 1 

is charming in every one* 1 "* 

more particularly in princes * u 
and never fails to please. 
4» Grace of manners* 1 

is charming in every one* 1 " 
but to princes* 1 
it is essential *'- 
and never fails to please. 
5. Grace of manners* 1 

is charming in every one* 1 

and never foils to please* 1 - 
but to princes^ it is as essential* 8 
as more solid accomplishments 
are to others. 



TO GIVE COMPACTNESS TO A LOOSE SENTENCE. 

In reading a loose sentence, such as the one 
given by Dr. Whately (quoted above), we should 
divide it so as to throw together such circumstances 
as will make up a compact clause in the first part ; 
and separate it from the other details or circum- 
stances in the second or other clauses, which are 

H 2 



100 ART OF EIOCUTION. 

less bound up with the main fact in narration, or the 
proposition to be laid down, or the idea to be con- 
veyed. Thus, — 

We came to our journey's end at last** 
with no small difficulty * 1 - 
afier much fatigue"" 1 
through deep roads and 
bad weather. 

So in the following: — 

Rome and Athens* 1 were two cities 
set on a hill" 5 - 

that could not he hid* 1 - 
and that everywhere meet the eye of history. 
Now, it is true that there is complete sense at — 
" Rome and Athens were two cities ;" 

but not the complete sense intended; for the words that 
follow are essential to the xaea to be conveyed. We must 
therefore read, — 

" Rome and Athens'* 1 were two cities 

set on a hill." 

We must let this point close the sense by a falling inflection 
on hill, or we should connect that word and idea with what 
immediately follows, and imply that — ■ 

" Rome and Athens were two cities •> 
set on a l»ili that co'iici not be hid." 

Whereas, Dy the pauses and inflections marked above we have 



LOOSE SENTENCES. 101 

the full meaning of the sentence made distinct by the clear 
articulation (if I may so express it) of each of its joints.* 

Sometimes a sentence will have apparently 
closed, the sense being quite complete, when the 
speaker will take it up again at the point and on 
the word with which he ceased ; in which case the 
close of the sense must be marked by a falling in- 
flection on the closing word, and its resumption must 
be marked with a strong rising inflection and pause 
on the echoed or repeated word. 

EXAMPLES. 

I am here to raise my voice against such dilatory and 
vacillatory conduct ^~ conduct "" 1 which will infallibly 
end in ruin and disgrace. 

To doubt your sympathy with the distressing case I have 
detailed, would be to insult your feelings of humanity ; 
feelings* 1 which are intuitive in the breast, and give 
gentleness and tenderness even to the sternest natures. 



FURTHER EXAMPLES OF THE PRECEDING RULES. 

1 9 The human mind* 1 is often so awkward and ill-regu- 
lated* 1 in the career of invention* 1 -, that it is at first diffident* 1 , 



* See (p. 133.) the correct reading of the loose sentence 
from the Liturgy quoted by ur. Whately. 
H 3 



102 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

and then despises itself. For it appears at first incredible* 1 
that any such discovery should be made** 1 " ; and when it has 
been made** 1- it appears incredible** 1 that it should so long have 
escaped men's research. — Bacon. 

2. In addition to the difficulty'" 1 of explaining customs ami 
manners*" foreign to our own""-, there are all the obstacles*" 1 of 
wilful prepossession ^ thrown in the way. 

G. A man may have the manners of a gentleman* 1 without 
having the look* 1 -; and he may have the character of a 
gentleman, in a more abstracted point of view, without the 
manners. 

4. Though we have read Congreve* 1 , a stage- coachman 
may be an over-match for us in wit* 1 -: though we are deep- 
versed in the excellence of Shakspeare's colloquial style" 1 , a 
village beldame may outscold us* 1 -: though we have read 
Machiavel in the original Italian* 1 , we may be easily out- 
witted by a clown* 1 - : and though we have cried our eyes out 
over the New Eloise* 1 -, a poor shepherd lad* 1 , who hardly 
knows how to spell his own name* 1 -, may " tell his tale, under 
the hawthorn in the dale* 1 ," and prove a more " thriving 
wooer." — Hazlilt. 



PARENTHESIS. 103 

As Example, without Punctuation (for the Pupil to mark, 
for himself with Pause and Inflection). 

The great difficulty in philosophy is to come to every 
question with a mind fresh and unshackled by former theories 
though strengthened by exercise and information as in the 
practice of art the great thing is to retain our admiration 
of the beautiful in nature together with the power to imitate 
it and not from a want of this original feeling to be enslaved 
by formal rules or dazzled by the mere difficulties of execution. 
Habit is necessary to give power but with the stimulus of 
novelty the love of truth and nature ceases through indolence 
or insensibility. Hence wisdom too commonly degenerates 
into prejudice and skill into pedantry. Ask a metaphysician 
what subject he understands best and he will tell you that 
which he knows the least about. Ask a musician to play a 
favourite tune and he will select an air the most difficult of 
execution. If you ask an artist his opinion of a picture he 
will point to some defect in perspective or anatomy. If an 
opera dancer wishes to impress you with an idea oi his grace 
and accomplishments he will throw himself into the most 
distorted attitude possible. — HazlitU 



PARENTHESIS PARENTHETICAL MEMBERS. 

Strictly speaking, a parenthesis is an interruption 
of the sense of the main sentence, (as is manifest 
from the derivation — 7rapa-£v-Tidr)ixi); and therefore 
members which are added to the sentence after the 
sense is completed, are not parenthetical (although 
they may be marked in parenthesis), but rather 
cata-thetical — if such a word may be used — , 

The very sentence I have just written furnishes 
an illustration of the distinction I wish to make ; 
in which the first passage marked in parenthesis is 

H 4 



104 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

not strictly a parenthesis ; for it does not suspend 
or interrupt — - though it confirms and explains the 
preceding part of the main sentence : but the 
second passage marked in parenthesis is correctly 
so marked, for it interrupts and suspends the sense 
of the main sentence. Again, the last phrase in 
the same sentence — marked between two dashes — 
occurring at the close of the main sense, is not par- 
enthetical (though it might be marked ordinarily 
in parenthesis), but rather cata-thetical — that is, 
tacked to the main sentence. 

But, in common use and acceptation, all the above 
phrases would be called parenthetical, — without re- 
ference to their being an interruption of> or merely 
an addition to, the sense ; and therefore I shall 
arrange the Elocutionary rules for reading paren- 
thesis according to the common and popular defini- 
tion of the term. 

rules. 

1. A parenthesis must have its commencement and continu- 
ance indicated by a change to a somewhat lower tone of voice 
and a quicker movement ; and the close of the parenthesis is 
marked by a return to the same time, pitch, and inflection of 
voice as the sense had at the point immediately preceding the 
parenthesis : so that, — 

2. If the sense be interrupted by parenthesis, its close shall 
be marked with the rising inflection : if the sense be complete, 
the parenthesis shall be closed with the falling inflection. 

Note. — The more logical form of these rules would be 
thus — 

If the parenthetical members suspend the sense, they shall 
be read with suspension of voice : if they do not, they shall 
be read as independent members. 



PARENTHESIS. 105 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Parenthesis suspending the sense. 

Gentlemen, if I make out this case by evidence (and if I 
do not, forget every thing you have heard, and reproach me 
for having abused your honest feelings) I shall have esta- 
blished a claim for damages that has no parallel. — Erskine. 

If there's a Power above (and that there is 
Ail nature cries aloud in all her works), 
He must delight in virtue. 

2. Parenthesis — in addition without a suspension 

EXAMPLES. 

Now, the works of the flesh are manifest, — which are these, 
&c. 

It is on reason and common sense, backed by principles of 

justice, confirmed by the experience of a century, that I have 

formed my opinion ; an opinion which no argument or 

authority can shake (not even the eloquence of the right 

honourable gentleman). 

Sometimes a cata-thetical addition will re-open 
the sense of a sentence which it concludes ; in that 
case the added clause will be marked with the rising 
inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

His strictness in regard to truth, and his fidelity to Lis 



106 ART OP ELOCUTION. 

friends, were astonishing — considering the situation he so 
long filled. 

The advice you gave him was sound, and might have 
saved him — had he chosen to follow it. 

EXCEPTION. 

This rule is (like all others) subject to be varied by the 
Emphasis of force — which, occurring in the parenthesis, over- 
rules the inflection proper to suspension; as in the following 
passage from Mr. Burke's speech on the impeachment of 
Warren Hastings :— 

EXAMPLE. 

Growing from crime to crime, ripened by cruelty for 
cruelty, these fiends, at length, outraging sex, decency, 
nature, applied lighted torches and slow fire — (I cannot pro- 
ceed for shame and horro r!) these infernal furies planted 
death in the source of life, &c. 

Here, though the sense is suddenly broken and suspended 
by the introduction of the parenthesis, yet, as the closing 
phrase of that parenthesis is marked with the Emphasis of 
force, it is an exception to the general rule, which would 
otherwise require a rising inflection to mark the suspension of 
the sense. 



PRONOUNS — PRONOMINAL PHRASE. 

We are taught in Grammar that a pronoun is 
used to avoid the repetition of a noun. 

In Elocution, when the noun is repeated, and the 
use of the pronoun rejected, we call the word so 



PRONOUNS. 107 

repeated pronominal ; that is, of the nature, or in 
place of a pronoun ; as, — 

He advanced the doctrine ; he maintained the doctrine ; he 
propagated the doctrine. 

In this example, " the doctrine? in every in- 
stance of its repetition^ is clearly pronominal; 
standing in place of the pronoun u it" For, ac- 
cording to the usual construction of such a sentence, 
it would have stood — 

He advanced the doctrine j he maintained it ; he propa- 
gated it. 

Hence, being so nearly of the same nature, they 
follow the same rule of Elocution : viz. — 

RULE. 

Pronouns and pronominal phrases have no proper inflection; 
but merge in that of the inflected or emphatic word with 
which they stand. 

EXAMPLES. 

(The pronouns and pronominal phrases are in brackets,) 

Henry told [me] the truth [about it]. 

I asked [him] if he had finished [ft]. 

[It] struck [me] that I had seen [him] before. 

In these sentences, the pronouns have no in- 
flection ; but are subjected to, and over-ridden by 
the inflection of the word which governs them, or 
to which they are immediately allied. So of a pro- 
nominal phrase. 



108 ART OF ELOOLTION. 

EXAMPLES. 

As you have shown mercy, you shall receive fmercy]. 

Your cruelty merits [cruelty]. 

Your goodness deserves [goodness]. 

He repaid your kindness with [kindness]. 

God said, Let there be light ; and there was [light],* 

We observe that the pronominal phrase in each 
instance follows the rule on the pronoun ; and is 



* I remember Hazlitt, in his Table-talk, mentions Coleridge 
having produced what he, Hazlitt, considered an original and 
a very powerful effect, by reading this passage with the em- 
phasis on the repetition of the word " light ;" to which he 
gave also a burst or swell of voice to express the sudden 
burst of light that followed the command. In that case he 
read it thus : — 

" God said, Let there be light -, and there was light/ ' 

But I must contend against this reading both as incorrect 
and also as deficient in just effect. 

Incorrect, because a literal translation of the original would, 
I imagine, give the passage thus : — 

" God said, Let light be; and light was." 

So rendered, there can be no doubt that the emphasis must 
fall, as I have marked it, on the verb, and not on the repeated 
noun ; and transposition of words cannot alter emphasis of 
sense. 

This emphasis on the verb expresses also the idea of tho 
instantaneous execution of God's word, which I take to be the 
just effect intended. 



PBONOMINAL PHRASE. 100 

subjected to the inflection on the verb or preposition 
by which it is governed. 

Except — 

• Demonstrative and interrogative pronouns *; and pronouns 
or pronominal phrases when emphatic : as, — 

This is my book, not that. 

Who said so? What did he say? 

Henry told me the truth. 

I warned him : he saved me. 

He is a good boy** 1 James. 

common phrase (quasi pronominal). 

The same rule applies to the repetition of any phrase which 
is common to two or more verbs, adverbs, &c. Such repeated 
common phrase is read as pronominal. 

EXAMPLES. 

He speaks truly, and [he speaks] wisely. 

It was truly said, and wisely [said]. 

If we live in the spirit, let us also walk [in the spirit]. 

pronominal phrase in reply. 

The rule holds, also, on repetition of a common phrase m 
reply, in dialogue, — or in reference to previously spoken 
words by another party. 

* Pronouns of these two classes are generally emphatic* 
and therefore the exception. 



110 ART OP ELOCUTION. 

EXAMPLE. 

Question. Is that your firm opinion? 

I\ejjly. It Js** 1 [my firm opinion]. 

Nor need the repetition be literal ; if the idea or sense be 
repeated, the phrase is read as pronominal. 

EXAMPLE. 

The gentleman boasts that he is actuated by motives the 
most pure and honourable. Sir, the boast is needless ; Who 
questioned [his integrity and honour] ? 

emphasis with pronominal phrase. 

It will be observed that the verb or other word 
governing, or in conjunction with, the pronominal 
phrase, becomes emphatic : this is made still more 
clear in the case of a negative with such phrase. 

EXAMPLES. 

To be, or not ^ to be ? 

Question. Why do you express yourself so angrily ? 

Reply. I did not [express myself angrily]. 

The gentleman insinuates that I have acted a double part 
and therefore forfeited the confidence of the house. Sir, if I 
had [done so] I should deserve [to lose your confidence], but 
I shall prove that I have not [acted as he says]; and therefore 



EXERCISE. 1 1 1 

I expect to retain [your good opinion], (or) to retain your 
good opinion. 

This Emphasis belongs to "The Emphasis of 
Sense" (see ante, Emphasis), and may be distin- 
guished as the "Emphasis with pronominal phrase." 
[See Series — Pronominal Scries.] 



I-et the student now practice aloud the following as an 
exercise : — 

PORTIA'S SPEECH ON MERCY. 
(Marked with Pause, Inflection and Emphasis,) 

The quality of mercy*" is not strain'd* 1 - * 
It droppeth**" 1 as the gentle rain from heav'n*" 1 
Upon the place bene»tn- <.% « twice* 1 bless'd* 1 - 
It blesseth him that gives* 1 and him that takes * 1 - 
'Tis mightiest*" 5 m* 1 the mightiest **- it becomes 
The throned monarch* 1 better than his crown * 1 - 
His sceptre* 1 shows the force'* 1 of temporal* power * 1 - 
The attribute* 1 to awe and majesty* 1 
Wherein doth sit* 1 the dread and fear * of kings * 1 - 

* These inflections would be compound; see Compound In- 
flections, p. 140. 



112 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

But mercy ** 1 is above* 1 this sceptred sway* 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings* 1 - 
It is an attribute** 1 to God himself * 1 - 



And earthly power*" 1 doth then** 1 show likest God's* 1 
When mercy* 1 seasons justice, i Therefore** 1 Jcw* 1 - 
ThoHgli justice be thy plea** 1 consider this** 1 - 
That* 1 in the course of justice ** 1 none of us 
Should see salvation* 1 - we do pray* 1 for mercy * 1 - 
Aiia that same prayer" 1 * 1 doth teach us ^jUi" 1 to render 

The deeds of mercy, i 

Shaksp. 



rs 



PART IIL 



INFLECTION— Continued. 

PERSPICUITY. 

"Perspicuity," Dr. Whately justly remarks*, "is 
the first requisite of style, not only in rhetorical, 
but in all compositions," 

Now, rhetorical compositions are intended for 
delivery — they are to be addressed to the mind 
through the ear ; and it will, consequently, be in- 
sufficient that the style of the composition be per- 
spicuous in itself, if that perspicuity be destroyed 
by want of perspicuity in delivery : that is, if the 
just and perfect meaning of the written language 
be lost, confused, or enfeebled by the weak, confused, 
or unintelligent elocution of the orator. Still 
worse, if the meaning of the written language be 
absolutely perverted by the false reading of the 
speaker.f 

" With a view to perspicuity in delivery, the great 
point," says Dr. Whately $, " is that the reader" (or 
speaker) " should appear to understand what he 
reads" (or speaks). "But," he adds, "it is not 
enough that he should himself actually understand 

* Elements of Rhetoric, Part IIL, c. 1. § 2. 
x See Introduction, p. 7. 
% Rhetoric, Part IV., c. 1 1. § 1. 
I 



114 ART OF ELOCUTION* 

it, it is possible, notwithstanding, to read" (speak) 
" it as if he did not." 

Now, there can b^ very little- doubt that the per- 
son whom Dr. Whately cites as having pronounced 
the passage (Mark iv. 21.), "Is a candle brought 
to be put under a bushel or under a bed," " as 
if there were no other alternative ,"— there can be 
scarcely a doubt that this false-reader perfectly 
understood the passage himself, though, in reading 
it, he so perverted its meaning to his hearers: 
"and yet," says Dr. Whately, "the emphasis was 
laid on the right words." 

What emphasis? Why, of course a false em- 
phasis, if any; and, consequently, the stronger that 
emphasis, being false, the more emphatic and 
decided the perversion of the meaning ! 

Dr. Whately's direction, then, for a good Elocu- 
tion, — viz., "read as if you understood what you 
are reading" — is clearly insufficient : it is of no 
more value towards perspicuity in Elocution, than 
such a direction as " understand what you are about 
to write yourself, and then write so that your readers 
may understand you? would be available towards 
producing perspicuity in composition : it only 
amounts to saying, in other words, "be perspicuous." 
— But how? 

Some principles and rules for perspicuity are ne- 
cessary in both cases. 

Inflection of voice is the great indicator of 
meaning — Emphasis, as I have before defined it, is 
inflection and stress of voice ; that is, force is added 
to the inflection to make the meaning emphatic. 
And there can be no more important auxiliary to 



APPOSITION. 115 

the orator in attaining the great desideratum of 
perspicuity mentioned by Dr. Whately, — viz., that 
of making any sentence " understood clause by 
clause as it proceeds," — than a just use of inflection, 
so that the inflection of voice shall be perpetually 
aiding and working out the meaning. There are, 
consequently, special rules of inflection proper to 
various conditions and inflections of meaning, and 
to the mutual relations of the different clauses of 
a period or sentence, the classification of similar 
ideas and members, and the separation of opposite 
or dissimilar ones, and, in fact, to all the accidents 
of the grammar of Elocution, as bearing on and 
forming part of Rhetoric : for it must be always 
remembered that the highest aim of the principles 
of Rhetoric is the formation of a ready, skilful, 
and persuasive speaker. 
To proceed, then, to some 

SPECIAL RULES OF INFLECTION, 

marking particular conditions or variations of mean- 
ing, or the relative bearing, or disconnection of ideas 
or clauses. 

1. Apposition— 2. Antithesis. 

1. Apposition of meaning and construction re- 
quires to be marked by apposition or similarity of 
inflection ; that is, — 

RULE. 

Words or clauses of sentences in apposition with each other 
take the same respective inflections ; unless any of them bo 
made emphatic fox force. 

I 2 



116 ART OF ELOCUTION. 



EXAMPLES, 

<**** ^~ 

Cleopatra, queen of Egypt, chose an asp as the means of 

death. 

I reside in London — a magnificent city. 

And now abideth, faith, hope, and chanty — these three. 

Is a candle brought to be put under a bushel, or under a 
bed? 

Here the " bushel " and the " bed " are in apposition ; each 
being only an individualisation of the general idea of conceal- 
ment which would be conveyed by a question in the following 
form : — 

Is a candle brought to be hidden under anything ? 

In reading, therefore, each individualisation of the same 
general idea receives the same inflection of voice ; and would 
do so whatever were the form of the sentence, whether in- 
terrogative, negative, or declaratory ; that is, the sense would 
govern the inflection on the first word conveying the indivi- 
dual idea, and the rest would follow in apposition ; and 
though the general idea were repeated through several indi- 
vidualisations, the rule would hold good in all ; as thus : — 

Is a candle brought to be hid under a bushel, or under a 
bed (or a table, or a chair, or in a box). 

No ; it is brought to shine, to give light, to be displayed. 

The answer shows the force of the rule in another form. 

I trust that the above rule and examples have made this 
subject of apposition with relation to inflection so clear, that it 



ANTITHESIS. 1 17 

would be impossible for any one who may read it to be guilty 
of such a perversion of meaning as Dr. Whately's blunderer, 
who read, ihn original question " as if there were no other 
alternative/' He read it falsely, thus, antithetically ; — 

Is a candle brought to be put under a bushel, or under a 

bed? 
As in Matthew v. 15. Neither do men light a candle and 

put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick. 

2. Antithesis, 

or opposition of meaning, requires antithesis of 
inflection ; that is, — 

RULE. 

Words or clauses in antithesis, or opposition to each other 
take opposite inflections. 

EXAMPLES. 

He spoke for, not against peace. 

To be, or not to be. 

As fire is opposed to water, so is vice to virtue. 

A wit among lords, a lord among wits. 

We seek not peace, but war ; and we shall fight, not pray ; 

for we bad rather die than live. 
Shall we prefer disease to health ? death to life ? slavery 

to liberty? 
The above are examples of single antithesis. 

X 3 



IIS ART OF ELOCUTION* 

DOUBLE ANTITHESIS. 

In the following, the antithesis is double, that is, of 
several opposite ideas, and consequently opposite 
inflections. 

EXAMPLE. 

Bational liberty is directly opposed to the wildness of 
anarchy. 

{Hare rational is in antithesis to wildness, and liberty to 
anarchy : the inflections on each respectively are therefore aha 
ooposed.) 

FURTHER EXAMPLES. 

If yon seek to make one rich, study not to increase his stores, 
bnt to diminish his desires. — Seneca, 

The peasant complains aloud ; the courtier in secret repines. 
In want, what distress ! in affluence, what satiety I The ig' 
norant, through ill-grounded hope, are disappointed; the 
knowing, through knowledge, despond. — Young. 

Or, for force, " the knowing, through knowledge, despond." 

All flesh is not the same flesh ; but there is one kind of 
flesh of men, another flesh of beasts,**- another of fishes, and 
another of birds. 



IMPLIED ANTITHESIS. 119 

There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial: but 
the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial 

is another. — 1 Cor. xv. 

Note also the melody that is produced to the ear by this 
antithetical alternation of inflection ; which thus has the effect 
not only of logically increasing the force and power of the con- 
trast of ideas, by contrast of pitch, but, at the same time, of 
pleasing the ear by an agreeable variety of tone.* 

IMPLIED ANTITHESIS. 

Antithesis may be implied, when not expressed; in which 
case the sense is left unfinished (as it were), and, consequently, 
is marked with the rising inflection. 

examples. 

He is a good boy, James.* 

(Implying, that some other boy may be a bad one.) 

You ask too much money ; I'll give you a sovereign.* 
(Implying, " but not any more.") 

I'd give twenty pounds for such a horse as that.* 
(Implying, " but not for an inferior one.") 

Presumptuous man ! the gods take care of Cato ! * 
(Implying, " more immediately than of other men.") 

Confidence is a plant of slow growth* 1 in an aged bosom.* 
(Implying, " whatever it may be in a youthful breast.") 



* See Compound Inflections, p. 140. 
I 4 



120 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

Grace of manners, charming in every one, is essential to 

princes.* 

{Implying, " though not to private individuals, in whom it 
may only be an agreeable accomplishment.") 

[See ante, Emphasis of Sense.] 
EMPHASIS OF ANTITHESIS. 

Words and members in antithesis are (as a gene- 
ral rule) marked by the emphasis of sense : that is, 
the inflections are marked with additional weight; 
— this emphasis may be designated as Antithetical 
Emphasis. 

But the emphasis of force is sometimes used in 
one member of the antithesis to give additional 
strength to it ; and, as it will be remembered, this 
emphasis of force is always made by the falling in- 
flection, its introduction in the first member of an 
antithesis may require the second member in appo- 
sition to take the rising inflection ; which Avill be cne 
of the exceptions to the rule, under the power of 
" Emphasis of Force." 

EXAMPLES OF EMPHASIS OF FORCE IN ANTITHESIS. 

Fire and water** 1 are less opposed than vice and virtue. 

Without force, as a simple declaration^ the read- 
ing would be — 

Tire and water ^ are less opposed than vice and virtue. 

* See Compound Inflections in relation to Antithesis, 
p. 140. 



ANTITHESIS. 121 

Antithesis is so powerful a form of Rhetoric, that 
it deserves the best attention of the Elocutionist ; 
and he should therefore make himself thoroughly 
master of it. 

" There can be no doubt*," says Dr. Whately, 
"that this figure " (antithesis) " is calculated to add 
greatly to energy. Everything is rendered more 
striking by contrast ; and almost every kind of 
subject-matter affords materials for contrasted 
expressions." And he then proceeds to give many 
valuable hints and instructions as to framing the 
antithesis, &c. 

But, as I have observed above, a written composi- 
tion, however elegant and forcible, may be enfeebled 
and destroyed in its effect by the faults of a bad 
reader or speaker; and as the highest object of the 
rules and principles of Rhetoric is to form a fluent 
and powerful orator, it becomes, therefore, essential 
to the speaker to be able to mark and strengthen 
the contrast of ideas and expressions, by contrast of 
inflection of voice ; otherwise, the very point of 
the antithesis will be lost, or at least only half felt. 

Hence, I consider the observation of the above 
rules respecting antithesis as important to energy, as 
the rules for apposition are essential to perspicuity 
in Elocution ; and, therefore, necessary and indis- 
pensable aids and allies to "perspicuity" and 
" energy " of style in " Rhetoric" f 

To carry the alliance out fully, I shall take 

* Elements of Bhetoric, Part III., c. 11. § 14, 
t Ibid., Perspicuity — - Energy. 



122 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

leave, for the guidance of the elocutionary student, 
to mark with the proper inflections some examples 
of antithesis which Dr. Whately furnishes in his 
Elements of Rhetoric. They will serve as an 

EXERCISE ON ANTITEIESIS. 

When reason is against a man, he will be against reason. 

Words* 1 are the c ounters of wise men, and the money of 
fools, — Hobbes. 

A fool with judges ; among fools a judge. — Cowper. 

Non ut edam vivo, sed ut vivam edo. — Quinctilian. 

Persecution is not wrong, because it is cruel ; but cruel bo- 
cause it is wron g. 

On parent knees, a naked, new-born child** 1 , 
Weeping, thou sat'st,* 1 while all around thee smiled j 
So live, that, sinking in thy last long sleep, 

Thou then mayst smile , while all around thee weep. * 

Sir W. Jones. 

He who dreads new remedies * 1 must abide old evils . — Bacon. 

Party " 1 is the madnes s of many * 1 for the gain of a few. 
[ See Series — Antithetical Series, ] 



See Compound Inflections, p. 140. 



E&YERTED SENTENCES. 123 

EXAMINATION. 

Interactional phrases, of exclamation, apo- 
strophe, pity, and sorrow, and the like, are marked 
with the rising inflection ; as ; — 

O Rome ! oil my country ! how art thou fallen ! 

Sweet sleep ! how have I frighted thee I 

Alas ! my friend 1 Woe is me I 

But the entire 

EXCLAMATORY SENTENCE! 

is closed with the falling inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

O Home ! how art thou fallen ! 

Thanks to the gods ! my boy has done his duty ! 

Woe is me ! my heart is broken ! 

Alas, my friend! how much I pity thee! 

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon yon bank! 

Angels and ministers of grace defend us I 



INVERTED SENTENCES. 
RULE. 

In an inverted sentence, the inverted members take the 
inflections respectively proper, in the direct sentence, to the 
members in whose place they stand, 



12 i ART OF ELOCUTION. 

EXAMPLE. 

Direct. He strictly enforces** 1 both by precept and ex- 
ample* 1 - the laws of religion and morality** 1 incul- 
cated in the Gospel. 

Inverted,, The laws of religion and morality** 1 inculcated in 
the Gospel** 1 - he strictly enforces* 1 both by precept 
and example. 

EXCEPTION. 

The only exception to this rule is made by the Emphasis of 
force, the inflection of which is paramount, and never changes, 
however much the position of the word on which it falls may 
be changed by inversion. 

EXAMPLE. 

Direct Our sight M is the most perfect of all our senses. 

Inverted, Of all our senses our sight ** 1 is the most perfect. 

Or, 

The most perfect of all our senses is our sight. 

Here, by throwing the Emphasis of force upon the word 
sight, Ave mark it strongly on the hearer's mind ; and sup- 
posing that to be the speaker's object, no transposition of the 
word wiJl relieve it from that Emphasis. But if it be merely 
an indifferent and abstract remark, it would be subject to the 
above rule as to inversion, and be thus marked : — 

Our sight is the most perfect of all our senses. 

Of ail our senses, our sight is the most perfect. 

The most perfect of all our senses is our sight. 



SERIAL SENTENCES. 125 

CONDITIONAL SENTENCES. 

The addition of a condition to an affirmative, 
requires the rising inflection ; which marks the 
uncertainty raised by the condition attached ; as, — 

He said he would call if you would consent to see him. 
He shall live, if I have power to save him. 
Doctrines must be embodied, before they can excite strong 
public feeling. 

Observe that the simple affirmative in this form of sentence 
retains the. falling inflection; it is the condition that receives 
the rise, 

SERIAL SENTENCES. 

The Series, in Rhetoric (a succession of words, 
or phrases, linked together in construction, but 
conveying different ideas) constantly occurs : it is 
a perpetual source of difficulty in delivery to the 
uninstructed reader or speaker, whose confused and 
unconnected manner, stumbling over the different 
members of the series as they arise, painfully 
exemplifies the truth of Dr. Whately's illustration 
of the false step on the staircase. 

Attention to a few simple rules for the delivery 
of serial sentences will therefore be found of great 
advantage to the Elocutionist. 

The Series is either Simple, or Compound :— - 

Simple, when the members in succession are 
single, or convey single ideas ; — 



12G ART OF ELOCUTION. 

Compound, when the members are complex in 
form, each containing several ideas. It is called— 

Commencing, when it commences a sentence, or 
when the sense is unfinished at the close of the 
series : — 

Concluding, when the sense is closed with the 
series. 

Rules for Inflection of the Series. 

1. A simple, commencing Series, in affirmative sentences, 
takes a rising inflection on every member of the Series except 
the penultimate (or last but one), which has a falling inflection, 

EXAMPLES. 

Faith, (1) 

hope," 1 (2) 

and charity,*"- (3) 

are cardinal virtues. 

May faith," 1 (1) 

hope," (2) 

charity," (3) 

peace," (4) 

and patience,"- (5) 
possess our souls. 

2. A simple concluding Series 

takos a rising inflection on every member of the series but the 
last. 



SERIAL SENTENCES. 12:3 

EXAMPLES. 

The cardinal virtues are, 
faith,* 1 (1) 

l^r (2) 

and charity. (3) 
May our srtfils be possessed with 
faith^ (1) 

hope," 1 (2) 

charity, ** (3) 
peace, (4) 

and patience ! (5) 

Examples of a series of adjectives or verbs, with 
one noun common to the series : — 

1. Where the noun follows the adjective or verb. 

EXAMPLES. 

A blind, headlong, precipitate, and irretrievable flight** 1 - 
was the result of their rash, ill-timed, tumultuous, and 
disorderly attack. 

To conquer, to enslave, to oppress, to destroy his fellow- 
men ^~ 
are the triumphs of a savage chief "*- 

to free, to preserve, to improve, to bless ilicm*"" 1 ** 
the glory of a wise prince. 



123 ART OF ELOCtmOST. 

2. Where the noun precedes the series of verbs or adjectives 
by inversion. 

EXAMPLES. 

An attack, rash, tumultuous, ill-timed, and disorderly * 1 - 
ended in a flight M 
blind, headlong, precipitate, and irretrievable. 

These traitors to their country"* 1 

he discovered, exposed, arrested, brought to trial, 
convicted, and put to death. 



.DIVISION OP A LONG SIMPLE SERIES. 
RULE. 

When a simple series exceeds five members, divide the 
whole into two or more shorter series ; and read the divisions 
according to rule, — marking each division with the middle 
pause. 

EXAMPLE. 

The works of the flesh are manifest ; which are these : 
Adultery,** 1 fornication,* 1 un cleanness,** 1 lasciviousness,** 1 - 
idolatry,*" 1 witchcraft,** 1 hatred,*" 1 variance, *" 1 - 

emulations,** 1 wrath,*" 1 strife*** 1 seditions,*" 1 heresies,** 1 - 
envyings,** 1 murders,** 1 drunkenness,"^ revellicgs,** 1 
and such like.— Gal 



INFLECTION ON SERIES. 129 

Tn a series of so many members as this, the 
division (as above) prevents that unpleasing and 
catalogue-like monotony, which is produced by 
reading the whole as one series, with an unbroken 
succession of rising inflections. The division is of 
course arbitrary, as to the number of members 
which may be allotted to each division ; but the 
object to be aimed at in the separation of the 
members is a distinct classification ; so that tilings, 
objects or ideas, resembling or allied to each other 
in quality or degree, shall be kept together, and 
not be thrown in, confusedly, with others of a dif- 
ferent nature. 

Now, in the above example, such a distinct 
classification is rendered difficult, if not impossible, 
to the reader, by the absence of order and classi- 
fication in the passage itself. It may indeed be 
remarked, with the greatest respect, that much 
confusion is caused to the mind by the indis- 
criminately throwing together a series of offences 
very widely differing from each other in quality and 
degree ; and the climax of the wmole is enfeebled 
if not destroyed, by the addition of M drunkenness 
and revellings," after the high crime of murder. 
As that crime is the climax of the works of the 
flesh, what follows weakens the effect, and is, in 
fact, an anti-climax. I am now analysing it merely 
as a piece of composition, and for the purpose 
of making my meaning more clear^ suppose the 
passage to have stood as follows : — 



130 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

The works of the flesh are manifest ; which are these :~ 

Fornication**'' adultery** 1 uncleanness^lasciviousiiess*' L - 
witchcraft^ 1 heresy** 1 idolatry ** 1 - 

emulations^ 1 envy* 1 variance* 1 hatreds- 
wrath^ strife ^ seditions* 1 

revellings" 81 drunkenness ^ murders ^ 
and such like. 

By this arrangement, the classification of crime 
would have been clear and perfect, gradually grow- 
ing and increasing in power up to the climax — 
murder, — the last dread work of the flesh. And it 
is to aid this logical arrangement, classification and 
progression, that the rules for reading the series are 
given. In the following series the classification is 
distinct and perfect as it is written, and it will 
be felt that the elocutionary arrangement and in- 
flections very much aid it : — 

For I am persuaded that 

neither death** 1 nor life** 1 - 

nor angels** 1 nor principalities** 1 nor powers*" 1 - 

TiOT things present** 1 nor things to come* 1 * 1 

noi height** 1 hot dep&T 1 nor any other creature**'" 
shall he able to separate us from the love of God, which is in 
Christ Jesus our Lord. — Kom. viii. 



COMPOUND SERIES. 131 

COMPOUND SERIES. 

1. Commencing^ takes a falling inflection o& every 
member but the last, which receives a strong rising 
inflection. 

EXAMPLE. 

A good disposition'* 1 - (1) 

virtuous principles** 1 - (2) 

a liberal education** 1 - (3) 

and industrious habits,** 1 - (4) 
are passports to happiness and honour. 

2. Concluding, takes the falling inflection on 
2very member but the penultimate, which receives 
the rising inflection. 

EXAMPLE. 

Contentment, happiness, and honour** 1 reward 
a good disposition** 1 - (1 ) 
virtuous principles** 1 - (2) 
a liberal education ***- (3) 
and industrious habits. (4) 

FURTHER EXAMPLES. 

The verdant lawn,** 1 - the shady grove,** 1 - the variegated 

landscape,** 1 - the boundless ocean, ^ and the starry firma- 
ment," 1 - all tend to inspire us** 1 with the *ere of nature* 1 and 
of nature's God. 



132 ART OP ELOCUTION. 

I conjure you, by that which you profess, 

(Howe'er you come to know it) answer me : 

Tho' you untie the winds, and let them fight 

Against the churches; tho* the yesty waves* 1 

Confound, and swallow navigation up; 

Tho' bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown down; 

Tho' castles topple on their warders' heads; 

TIio' palaces and pyramids'" 1 do slope 

Their heads to their foundations; tho 1 ttd treasure 

Of nature's garneries** 1 tumble all together,*" 1 

Even till destruction sicken* 1 - answer me 

To what I ask you ! 

IRREGULAR SERIES. 

A series is frequently irregular,— that is, in part 
simple, and in part compound. In such cases : — 

RULE. 

Separate and class the simple and compound members, — 
and read them in series according to their respective rules. 

EXAMPLES. 

% Ail t'ne circumstances and ages of men,** 1 

poverty,** 1 riches,* 1 youth,* 1 eld age,* 1 ^ 
all the dispositions and passions,* 1 

melancholy,* 1 love,* 1 grief,* 1 contentment,* 1 - 



EXERCISE ON SERIES. 133 

are capable of being personified in poetry with great pro- 
priety. — Bixir. 

2. Neither blindness,* 1 nor gout,*" 1 nor age,*' 1 nor penury,* 1 - 

nor domestic afflictions,** 1 nor political disappointments, *"'- 

nor abuse,* 1 nor proscription,** 1 nor neglects- 
had power** 1 to disturb his sedate and majestic patience. — 
Macaulay. 

Besides the inflection proper to a series, increas- 
ing force should be given to the delivery of each 
additional member ; so that the sound and volume 
of voice shall swell and increase in the same pro- 
portion as the sense grows and is amplified, — until 
both reach the climax together. This will be more 
fully explained and illustrated hereinafter under 
the head of Intonation. The reader may now 
practise the following — 

EXERCISE ON SERIES. 
1. And although we ought "^ at all times* 1 - humbly to ac- 
knowledge our sins* 1 before God,* 1 - 

yet ought we most chiefly so to do,* 1 
when we assemble and meet together* 1 
to render thanks* 1 for the great benefits* 1 that we have 
received at his hands, * 1 - 

to set forth his most worthy praise,* 1 
K 3 



134 ART OF 2I.0CUTI0N. 

to hear his most holy word,* 1 
and to ask those things* 1 which are requisite and 
necessary, *i- 

as well for the body as the soul. 

This sentence is instanced by Dr. Whately (El. Rhetoric, 
Fart III., c. ii., § 13.) as one of great difficulty even for " a good 
reader, to deliver with spirit" or " to his own satisfaction.' 1 I 
confess 1 do not see the difficulty myself (loose as the sentence is) ; 
nor, I trust, will any student who has gone with me thus far in 
the principles of Elocution, find any difficulty in reading the 
passage with full and clear meaning, force, and effect, without 
trip or hesitation. 

2. If you look about you, and consider the lives of others 
as well as your own ; if you think how few are born with 
honour, and how many die without name or children ; how 
little beauty we see, and how few friends we hear of; how 
many diseases and how much poverty there is in the world; 

you will fall down upon your knees; 
and, instead of repining at one infliction, will admire 
so many blessings you have received at the hand of God ! 

3. It was a loathsome herd, — which could be compaied to 

nothing so fitly as to the rabble of Comus.— 
Grotesque monsters, — 

half human, half bestial,— 



NEGATIVE SERIES. 135 

dropping with, wine, 

bloated with gluttony, 

and reeling in obscene dance3« 

4. This decency, this grace,** 1 - this propriety of manners to 
character,"^- is so essential to princes in particular, that, 
whenever it is neglected, their virtues lose a great degree of 
lustre, and their defects acquire much aggravation. Kay, 
more ; by neglecting this decency, and this grace, and for 
want of a sufficient regard to appearances, even their virtues 
may betray them into failings, their failings into vices,, and 
their vices into habits unworthy of princes and of men. 



Negative Series (as a simple Concluding Series). 



A series of negative members may be read with a rising 
inflection on every member but the last: the inflection falls, 
of course, on the word or idea negatived. 

EXAMPLE. 

Charity envieth not 8 * 1 charity vatmtcih fitft i£* If* 1 is not 

puffed up^- 

Doth not behave itself unseemly^ seeketh not her own* 1 is 

not easily provoked ~ thinketh no evil. — 1 Cor. xiii. 
a a 



136 , ART OF ELOCUTION. 

INTERROGATIVE SERIES. 
A series of interrogations may be VQixd. eiijjfifc 1 -sai 

1. Under the rule for single Questions, see p. 79.; or, 

2. With the same inflections as a simple concluding 

series; or, 

3. As the compound concluding series. 

It is well, in delivery, to vary them, when they occur fre- 
quently, or when several series follow closely on each other. 
For example, the following, from. Rom. viii., admits of being 
read under either of the three rules : — 

1. As single interrogations in apposition : 

Who shall separate us from the cross of Christ?*' 1 - Shall 
tribulation**'- or distress'* 1 - or persecution* 1 - or famine** 1- 
or nakedness* 1 - or the sword ? 

Thus read, -great and equal force is given to each interro- 
gation ; but there is no climax. 

2. With the same inflections as the simple concluding 

Series : 

Shall tribulation**'- or distress* 81 - or persecution* 1 - or 
famine* 1 - or nakedness** 1 - or the sword ? 

Thus read, the climax is made, by emphasis of force, on the 
sword; as if he said or even the sword itself; that is, the ' 
fiercest and bloodiest violence and persecution. 



ANTITHETICAL SERIES. 137 

3. As the compound concluding Series ■ 

Shall tribulation* 1 - or distress* 1 -, or persecution * 1 - 
or famine* 1 - or nakedness"* 1 - or the sword? 

So read, it amounts to a declaration, — put interrogatively, 
■ — that none of the evils enumerated are of power to separate 
the Christian from the Cross ; and there is much force 
in this reading. 

I should, myself, prefer the second reading given, as con- 
veying the most forcible contempt for persecution. But the 
choice is a matter of judgment and taste. 



ANTITHETICAL SERIES. 

[See ante, " Antithesis."] 

An Antithetical Series - that is, a series of members in 
Antithesis — commencing or concluding — is read under the 
same rules of inflection as the Compound Series; each perfect 
antithesis — and not each branch of it — forming a member of 
the series. 

EXAMPLES. 

Antithetical Series — (single Antithesis). 
Commencing and Concluding. 
Commencing. Fire and water** 1 oil and vinegar* 1 heat and 
cold* 1 light and darkness*i- 

are not more opposed to each other, than is 
Concluding, honesty to fraud** 1 or vice to virtue. 



138 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

Double Antithetical Series — (double Antithesis). 

Commencing. 

Prudent in debate* 1 but rash in actions- 
moderate in peace"* 1 vindictive in war" 1 - 
patient in adversity"* 1 overbearing in prosperity s- 
his character was a compound of singular contradictions. 

Concluding. 

He presented the contradictory character of a man 
prudent in debate** 1 but rash in actions- 
moderate in peace** 1 vindictive in war* 1 - 
patient in adversity"* 1 overbearing in prosperity. 

Note. — In this last species of Series, the middle pause has 
place after each member ; that is, after each perfect 
antithesis. 



PRONOMINAL SERIES. 

[See ante, " Pronominal Phrase."] 

A series of verbs or other parts of speech having, in con- 
cordance, the same pronoun or pronominal phrase (or quasi 
pronominal phrase) in Series, is read with the inflections pro- 
per to simple scries (for the pronouns and pronominal phrases 
have 710 inflection). 

EXAMPLES. 

I told [him] I warned [him] I advised [him] I implored 



PRONOMINAL SERIES* 139 

[him] to act with [you] near [you] through [you] under 

He speaks clearly [he ^aluj] is&'y [he speaks] boldly. 

Charity beareth all things, belie veth [all things] hopeth [all 
things] endureth [all things j. 

When I was a child, I spake [as a child] I understood [as 
a child! I thought fas a childl; 



140 



PAKT IV, 



1. Compound Inflections. 

2. Pause of Iorce, ok JiiXpressiox 

3. Cumulative Emphasis. 

1. COMPOUND INFLECTIONS. 

I have previously mentioned compound inflec- 
tions, and it is now time to explain their force and 
use. They are distinguished from the simple rise 
and fall, by a greater range of ascent and descent, 
comprehending tones, double tones, and half tones, 
carrying the voice over an interval of Jive tones, 
and sometimes even* of an octave. 

The compound inflections are— 

1. The compound rising — thus marked ^s 
1. The compound falling — thus /^"n 

The curved line is chosen to indicate them, because in 
making them, the voice does not rise or fall directly, but in a 
sort of curve, taking in (or slurring over) intermediate half- 
tones in its ascent or descent to the extreme point of 
inflection. 



COMPOUND INFLECTIONS. 



141 



The use of these inflections does Dot set aside the 
rules for inflection, so far as to the point whether the 
inflection shall be rising or falling ; but it increases 
the pitch, and power of the inflection. 

Thus, if I ask you — 

Did you say yes ? 

with the simple rising inflection, the question is an indifferen t 
one, — in fact, a simple interrogation. It might be thus 
marked on a diagram, indicating the descent and ascent of 
the voice, and the extreme point of inflection : 




Or, in music, it might be thus scored — 



:#^= 



■4™-§«- 



Did you say 



yes? 



Here the ascent or rise is of three tones, — or, as it is called, 
a third. 

But, if I am anxiously desirous to know what your answer 
was— and in my question wish to express that I shall be very 
much surprised if you have said " Yes," my question would be 
inflected with the compound (or curved) inflection, thus : — 



or, in musical score: 




142 AKT OF ELOCUTION 



ft« 



-*1~T 



— I — ^ — °*, H— 9-0*1 — 



pifz^zifzzzihf^gz "':#dr^ 



Did you say ye-s? Y - - e - - s. 

in which there is on the word^es both a oVscent and an ascent 
(that is, a double or compound inflection), the ascent being 
two tones higher than that of the simple inflection in the 
simple question, and the curved line denotes the slur of the 
voice in passing from the low tone to the high one. 

In the same manner, the simple falling is changed, for ex- 
pression and force, to the compound falling inflection. Thus, 
in reply to the above question, if you give a simple answer, 

you will say — No — with the simple falling inflection ; but if 
(in answer to my compound inflection) you desire to imply 
" by no means; nothing could be further from my thoughts; and 
I am surprised you should ask such a question ,-" then you will 
reply with the compound falling inflection, — 



No— " — C — 3~~ 



No --- 



commencing on a high pitch of voice, and making a sweep 
or curve of descent equal and corresponding to the curve of 
ascent in the compound rising inflection of my question. 

That ascent and descent are usually in fifths, as above ; 
but when the speaker is under strong passion, his voice will 
ascend a full octave. Such, for example, should be the range 
of the inflection on the questions by Hamlet to Laertes at 
Ophelia's grave:— 

" Dost thou come here to whine? 

To outface me with leaping in her grave ; " 

Hamlet, act iv. sc. 1. 



COMPOUND INFLECTIONS. 143 



$! 



= — I f*— ft 



#fzi— ztz 



Dost thou come here to whine. 

And, unless the voice reach the octave in these lines, the pas- 
sionate contempt intended to be conveyed will be lost; and the 
scornful question will be changed into a common interroga- 
tion, as if expecting a serious answer. 

Such is the distinction between the compound and mmple 
inflections. 

Now let us see when and for what they are used. 



RULE. 

The compound inflections are used in strong and vehement 
interrogation,— and for wonder , contempt, scornful indignatcon t 
ridicule, and (especially) in Irony. 



EXAMPLES. 

When, in " The Merchant of Venice" (act iv. sc. 1.), Portia, 
understanding that the merchant's bond to Shylock is forfeited 



Then must the Jew be merciful ; 
and Shylock asks, — 

On what compulsion must I ? tell me that; 
her reply — 

The quality of mercy is not strain'd — 



1 14 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

must b* marked with the compound rising inflection ; which 
will give the expression of wonder that such a question could 
be asked, and contempt for the sordid fueling that dictated it.* 

So, in the following examples, for ridicule and 
irony : — 

You must take me for a fool, to think I could do that. 

For mine own part, 

I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 

For Brutus is an honourable man. 

You meant no harm; oh, no! your thoughts are innocent; 
you have nothing to hide ; your breast is pure, stainless, 
all truth. 

And in that reply of Brutus to Cassius (" Julius Caesar," 
act iv.), the scorn implied in his indignant interrogations, 
must be marked with the compound inilection, reaching at its 
climax a full octave. 

Cas. Ye gods ! ye gods ! must I endure all this ? 

* Dr. Whately (Elements of Rhetoric) remarks, that the 
instance in Genesis i. " God said, Let there be light ; and there 
was light," may be pronounced so as to imply that there was 
light already. Th s would be by & false use of the compound 
falling inflection, with the pitch raised to the octave on the word 

was: thus, " God said, Let there be light; and there was light," 
This pitch, with the compound inflection, won ill express wonder 
at the needless command. As one might say, " He kept call- 
ing for wine, and it was before him (all the time)." 



ANTITHESIS. 145 

Br, All this? Aye, more! — Fret till your proud heart 
break : 
Go show your slaves how choleric you are, 

And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? 

Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 

Under your testy humour ? 

It is, in fact, this pitch (the octave) that lends the scornful 
expression to the words ; and it is the degree of expression 
required that is to regulate the pitch, in each particular case. 

IN ANTITHESIS. 

These inflections are also used to give increased force to 
antithesis ; and follow each other, sometimes, in double antithesis 
so closely, that the voice is kept in a continual wave of ascent 
and descent, by alternate rising and falling compound 
inflections. 

EXAMPLES. 

If you said so, then I said so. 

Let the gall'd jade wince, our withers are unwrung ! 

In all the above examples there is a certain degree of jeer- 
ing or irony conveyed, and it is in the ironical expression that 
these compound inflections (with high pitch) have the greatest 
power. An exceedingly good practice on these inflections 
is Marc Antony's speech to the populace, over the dead body 
of Caesar ; in which it will be perceived what effect may be 
added to the oft-repeated epithet " honorable men" (which the 

L 



146 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

orator ironically applies to Brutus and the rest) by the adop- 
tion of these compound inflections. But, in the practice of tiiis 
speech, remark that the irony is not immediately displayed by 
Marc Antony. He dares not, in the first instance, cast a doubt, 
by ironical expression, upon the motives of Brutus and the rest; 
and it is only when he feels that he is making a favourable im- 
pression upon the multitude, and "stealing away their hearts," 
that he ventures to unveil his thoughts, and to speak with irony, 
and finally in utter contempt, of the " honorable men who have 
stabb'd Caesar."' Bearing this hint in mind the student may, 
at this point of his progress, exercise himself with advantage 
on that celebrated piece of oratory. * 



2. PAUSE OF FORCE, OR EXPRESSION. 

Great expression and force may be imparted to 
an idea by the introduction of the short pause, 
with a suspension of the voice immediately before 
the word conveying the idea, or embodying emo- 
tion. 

Thte pause, so introduced, and suspending the 
sense, is called the Pause of Force. 

Like the Emphasis of Force (with which it is 
frequently allied), it is arbitrary in its use, and de- 
pends on the will and judgment of the speaker for 
its employment. 

RULE. 

The pause of force or expression is made by arresting and 
suspending the voice immediately before the word or member 
on which the speaker wishes to concentrate his power. 

* See Appendix, 357. 



EXPRESSION. 147 

EXAMPLE. 

In Marc Antony's apostrophe to Csesar's body, — when 
Brutus and the rest, after the murder of Csesar, having shaken 
bands with Antony in pledge of amity, have left him alone in 
the senate house, — he exclaims, 

Oh ! pardon me, — thou bleeding piece of earth, — 
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! 

The force and expression of the passage, in 
delivery, is wonderfully increased, if, besides the 
visual pause?, we introduce the pause of feeling 
before — with the emphasis of force on->— the word 
"butchers ; " the passage will then be marked thus— 

O pardon me* 51 thou bleeding piece of earth** 1 - ^v- 
That I am meek and gentle ^ with these* 1 butchers ! 

The effect of this is at once felt : it is as if the 
speaker paused to find a word strong enough for 
his feeling of abhorrence ; and, at length, hitting on 
the word butcher, he pours it out with the force 
and expression of execration. 

This pause arrests the attention of the hearer in 
an extraordinary manner ; and therefore it may be 
used for that effect, before the word of particular 
force and importance in the most solemn and least- 
excited passages ; as in Saint Paul, — . 

And now abideth faith, hope, charity; these three : but 
the greatest of these is" 1 charity . 

And in Portia's speech on mercy, — 

And earthly power doth then shew likest* 3 GocT$, 
When mercy seasons justice. 
L 2 



148 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

In excited passages of highly-wrought feeling, it 
also gives the orator an opportunity of gathering 
full power of voice to concentrate it on the one 
word or phrase ; as, in the well-known burst of 
Othello's passion, — 

If thou dost slander her, and""' t orture me, 
Never pray more ! 

Great power and expression may be added to the 
phrase " torture me" by the introduction of this 
pause, with the emphasis of force, on the word 
6i torture" 

The strength of the passage is further increased 
by the addition of the same pause before the words 
" never pray more ; " in which case, the pause will 
be doubled in time, as there is already a pause of 
sense required after torture me. 

The passage will then stand marked — with pause, in- 
flection (of antithesis), and emphasis of force. 

If thou dost slander her, and*" 1 torture me**- 
Never pray more ! 

"We shall presently see that the power of this 
passage may be still further augmented — under the 
force of — 

3. CUMULATIVE EMPHASIS. 

The emphasis of sense goes to meaning only ; the 
emphasis of force is expressive of intensity and 
energy. That expression is augmented by doubling 
the emphasis, — and is brought to its climax of 



CUMULATIVE EMPHASIS. 149 

power, by applying it , to several ivords in succes- 
sion; which is called accumulated or Cumulative 
Emphasis. 

This emphasis, when judiciously used, adds great 
power to passages of strength : but it must not be 
frequently employed, or it will lose its effect by the 
repetition, and give a disagreeable jerking to the 
delivery. It is introduced properly, to add in- 
creased force to climax, — either of powerful argu- 
ment, or of highly-wrought passion. In both these 
cases it crowns the excitement and energy of the 
speaker; it is the "topmost round * of the iadder> 
beyond which he cannot step, It should thex'efore 
be reserved for great occasions. Thus, — 

EXAMPLES. 

1. In an important reply, in which the orator feels that he 
has triumphantly refuted the arguments of his opponent, he 
may, with effect, close the climax of his triumph with the 
cumulative emphasis of force: — 

I have thus shown, from the gentleman's own arguments, 
that the doctrine advanced by him is not at present received: 
— that it never was** 1 received: that it never ean-i by any 
possibility *^ 1 be" 1 received: and that, ** 1 if' 1 admitted,* 1 it must 
be "• by the total subversion of liberty itself! 

2. Again, on the climax of intense passion, in the former 
example of Othello's speech, — read with cumulative emphasis, 
the articulation of the passage becomes almost syllabic, and it 
acquires tremendous power, 

L 3 



150 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

If thoa dost slander her '"' and 1 " 1 torture me'"* 1 - 
Never pray more : abandon all remorse; 
On horror's head horrors accumulate ; 
Do deeds"* 1 to make heav'n weep, all earth ~> amazed — 
For nothing c anst thou to damnation acid" 1 
Greater than this ! 
Such is the power of Cumulative Emphasis. 

Expression of feeling and passion is achieved 
not by inflection or emphasis, but by pitch of voice; 
which will be treated of in the next part. 



PART V. 

ELOCUTION AND RHETORIC. 



Tpie student who shall have gone patiently 
through the preceding pages, exercising himself 
conscientiously on the different examples, as marked, 
and analysing each example so as to perceive 
clearly the relation between inflection of voice 
and meaning, — how the latter may be modified, or 
strengthened and enforced by a just application of 
the former, — and how, on the other hand, meaning 
may be weakened or entirely lost by the want of just 
inflection, or perverted by a false application of 
it, — will be quite prepared to admit the value of 
Elocution as an essential element of Rhetoric, 
and the advantage of a system of rules and prin- 
ciples which shall render its practice easy and cer- 
tain. It is, in fact, impossible to read a treatise on 
Rhetoric without perceiving that the author has in 
his mind a continual reference to Elocution ; and 
that even while he may deny the use of any system^ 
he is continually admitting and practically en- 
deavouring to obviate the errors that result from 
the want of one. 

l 4 



152 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

One of the greatest advantages of a habitually 
good Elocution — acquired by practice on system, 
till it shall have become almost a "second nature" 
— is the great facility it gives to its possessor of 
delivering sentences, the longest, loosest and most 
intricate in const iction, so that they shall be pre- 
sented to the mind of the hearer clearly and dis- 
tinctly, with all the threads of their apparently 
entangled clauses unravelled and laid in order 
before him. This the really good Elocutionist 
(whose habit shall have become a second nature) 
will effect by clear articulation^ and by the just 
application of pause, inflection, and emphasis ; and 
will have no more occasion to give his mind, at the 
time, to the rules or principles on which he is doing 
it, than a practised writer need think of the rules of 
grammar or the principles of Rhetoric on which he 
constructs his periods and orders his compositions.* 

* It is laid down by Lord Brougham (inaugural speech at 
Glasgow, 1825), "as a rule admitting of no exception, that a 
man will speak well in proportion as he has written much ; 
and that, with equal talents, he will be the finest extempore 
speaker, when no time for preparing is allowed, who has pre- 
pared himself the most sedulously when he had an opportunity 
of delivering a premeditated speech.'* 

This remark applies, of course, to the style of composition 
and rhetorical excellence of the oration. But the rule is 
equally applicable to excellence in delivery: he will be the 
finest extempore speaker whose Elocution has been sedulously 
cultivated by exercise in premeditated speeches, or on the com- 
positions of others. "All the exceptions," continues Lord 
Brougham (and I desire to go along with him), " all the ex- 
ceptions which I have ever heard cited to this principle are ap- 



ELOCUTION AND RHETORIC. 153 

What an advantage, then, must it be to an ex tempo* 
raneons speaker (I am now setting mere reading 
out of the question) to add to fluency of language, 
clearness, force and elegance of Elocution ! What 
labour and pains will it save him even in the 
extemporaneous arrangement and formation of his 
sentences ; for it must not be overlooked (it is part 
of my argument in favour of a system of Elocution), 
that, even in strictly extemporaneous speaking, the 
speaker will and must follow, if he possesses it, 
some system of rhetorical rules, of which, if he be 
master of them, he will in every sentence he speaks 
give a practical illustration, without, however, " fix- 
ing his mind on them at the moment."* In like 
manner the Elocutionist will, in practice, carry oat 
his system. He will not need to be trammelled by 
over-solicitude and over-nicety in the elaboration of 
his periods ; because he will feel confident that, to 
any form of sentence he can, by the power of his 
Elocution, give clearness, force and effect. He will 
thus gain much in the air of spontaneity and 
absence of premeditation which his oration, espe- 
cially if addressed to a popular assembly, will be 
able to assume, from its easy and conversational 
style. For, as Dr. Whately justly insists on the 
advantage of a " natural style of Elocution," so do 

parent ones only ; proving nothing more than that some few men 
of rare genius have become great speakers without preparation ; 
in no wise showing that, with preparation, they would not have 
reached a much higher degree of excellence." 
* Dr. Whately's Elements of Ehetoric. 



154 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

I ; and not only on a natural style of Elocution, but 
also on a natural style of Rhetoric. The difference 
between us is, that I maintain that the perfection of 
that natural style, in both cases, is to be attained 
by art and rule ; while the Doctor admits this in the 
case of Rhetoric, but denies it in the case of Elocu- 
tion. I think, further, that too severe an attention 
to rhetorical rule in the construction of sentences 
may be of disadvantage to a speaker, giving an 
appearance of formality and study to what professes 
to be extemporaneous ; while, on the other hand, 
I maintain, that the more strictly a good system of 
Elocution be followed and carried out in speaking, 
the more natural, easy, and unconstrained tvill be 
the delivery : for all the principles of Elocution are 
drawn from nature; and the perfection of the art 
is its accordance with nature. 

Let me see if I can illustrate this by a few 
examples, which I will take from Dr. Whately's 
Elements of Rhetoric. Speaking of long sentences, 
Dr. Whately has the following remarks and exam- 
ples * : 

"If a sentence be so constructed that the meaning 
of each part can be taken in as we proceed (though 
it be evident that the sense is not brought to a 
close), its length will be little or no impediment 
to perspicuity ; but if the former part of the sen- 
tence convey no distinct meaning till we arrive 
nearly at the end (however plain it may then 
appear), it will be, on the whole, deficient in per- 

* Elements of Rhetoric, Part IIL c. i. § 3. 



ELOCUTION AND RHETORIC. 153 

spicuity ; for it will need to be read over, or 
thought over, a second time, in order to be fully 
comprehended; which is what few readers or hearers 
are willing to be burthened with." Take such a 
sentence as this : — 

" It is not without a degree of patient attention and perse- 
vering diligence, greater than the generality are willing to be- 
stow, though not greater than the object deserves, that the 
habit can be acquired of examining and judging of our own 
conduct with the same accuracy and impartiality as that of 
another. 

" This," says Dr. Whately, " labours under the 
defect I am speaking of; which may be remedied 
by some such alteration as the following :" — 

" The habit of examining our own conduct as accurately as 
that of another, and judging of it with the same impartiality, 
cannot be acquired without a degree of patient attention and 
persevering diligence, not greater indeed than the object de- 
serves, but greater than the generality are willing to bestow." 

Now, I am far from denying that, in point of corn- 
position, the latter arrangement of the sentence may 
be more rhetorically correct ; but, as a question of 
extemporaneous speaking, I shouM myself give the 
preference to the first construction, as less formal, 
and more resembling what Dr. Whately, with 
reference to Elocution, would call the " natural style" 
and therefore conveying less the idea of study and 
design than Dr. Whately's emendation. The dis- 
tinction I mean to convey is, that the first is such a 



156 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

sentence as a man would naturally speak, the latter 
such a one as, in correcting his speech for the press, 
he might prefer to print. Mark how clear and 
easily to be followed the sentence as it first stands 
above is, when properly ordered by a good Elocu- 
tion : — 

It is not* 1 without a degree of patient attention and perse- 
vering diligences- 
greater than the generality are willing to bestow* 1 though 
not greater than the object deserves*" 1 - 

that the habit can be acquired 5 * 1 of judging of our own con- 
duct " ] - 

with the same accuracy and impartiality ** as that of 

another. 

Now this, I repeat, appears to me more easy, or, 
to use Dr. Whately's phrase, more natural, than 
the period as amended by him, which would read 
thus : — 

The habit of examining our own conduct** 1 as accurately 

as that of another,*" 1 and judging of it with the same im- 
partiality *" u 

cannot be acquired** 1 without a degree of patient attention 
and persevering diligence*" 1 - 

not greater than the object deserves, but greater than the 
generality are willing to bestow. 



ELOCUTION AND RHETORIC. 157 

The difference, in point and effect, between the 
two sentences, seems to me to be the same as exists 
between two such sentences as the following : — 

It is not by words but by deeds that sincerity in friendship 
must be determined. 

And 

Sincerity in friendship must be determined not by words 
but by deeds. 

No one, in reading the above, can doubt which 
he would prefer : the first is obviously the stronger, 
more pointed, and more natural, or, if I may say so, 
more idiomatic. Nor would the superiority of the 
former arrangement be diminished by adding seve- 
ral clauses to the sentence, provided they be clearly, 
and intelligently and forcibly delivered ; as, — 

It is not by words and professions of regard* 1 which'*' how- 
ever high sounding* 1 may be hollow and insincere * 1 - 
but by acts of kindness and practical evidence of good will 4 "* 1 - 
that the truth of friendship must be tested and determined, 
And 

The truth of friendship* 1 must be tested and determined* 1 
not bywords and professions of regard * 1 - 

which^' however high sounding, may be hollow and insin- 
cere ri- 
but by acts of kindness and practical evidence of good will. 



158 ART OP ELOCUTION. 

Now, I call the former the more natural form 
of the sentence ; by which I mean the form into 
which the idea would shape itself in ordinary dis- 
cussion uttered without any view to effect ; and the 
inflections marked upon it are also the natural 
inflections that it would receive, and without which 
its natural effect would be very much weakened. 
For example, read the last clause of the sentence 
(the first) with a falling inflection, and see how it 
will lose its force, and, if I may so speak, the confi- 
dent appeal which is made to the hearer, for the 
certain confirmation to his mind of the truth of the 
proposition; which effect the falling inflection would 
destroy, and the sentence would then seem to an- 
nounce a mere platitude. 

u The arrangement of words," says Dr. Whatcly *, 
" may be made highly conducive to energy." 

Doubtless ; especially if, in delivery, that ar- 
rangement be aided and assisted by Emphasis. 

" The rules of many of the modern languages," 
he continues, " frequently confine an author to an 
order which he would otherwise never have chosen; 
but what translator of any taste would ever volun- 
tarily alter the arrangement of the words in such a 
sentence as, MeyaXrj ^"AprejuLiQ 'Efyeaiiov, which our 
language enables us to render exactly i Great is 
Diana of the Ephesians ? '" And he then shows very 
truly how vastly superior this arrangement is to 
that of any French translation. Of course, in read- 
ing this line, the word "great" would receive an 

♦Elements of Rhetoric, Part III. c. ii. § II. 



ELOCUTION AND RHETORIC, 159 

emphasis of force, which will add still further 
strength to the exclamation, — 



Grea t*" 1 is Diana of the Ephesians. 

Here, again, Elocution lends its aid to Rhetoric ; 
strengthening the arrangement of the words by the 
force of the emphasis. 

The Doctor continues : 

" Our language, indeed, is very much hampered 
by restrictions ; it being in general necessary, 
for the expression of the sense, to adhere to an 
order which may not be in other respects the 
most eligible : ' Cicero praised Caesar,' and 'Caesar 
praised Cicero,' would be two very different pro- 
positions; the situation of the words being all that 
indicates (from our want of cases) ivhich is to be 
taken as the nominative ; but such a restriction is 
far from being an advantage. The transposition of 
words which the ancient languages admit of, con- 
duces not merely to variety, but to energy and even 
to precision. If, for instance, a Roman had been 
directing the attention of his hearers to the cir- 
cumstance that even Ccesar had been the object of 
Cicero's praise, he would, most likely, have put 
* Ccesarem' first; but he would have put ' Cicero' 
first, if he had been remarking, that not only others, 
but even he had praised Caesar." 

This, of course, refers principally to writing ; for 
in speaking an Elocutionist would mark the dis- 
tinction plainly by inflection. Thus, if he meant 



160 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

that "Cicero praised even Caesar," he would indicate 
the " even " by an emphasis of force on Caesar : — 

Cicero "^ praised Caesar. 

Any one trying this, and marking the force on 
"Caesar" with a strong falling inflection, will find 
that he has implied what would be expressed by the 
introduction of the word " even ;" and that he has 
conveyed some such idea as that " Cicero withheld 
his praise from no one, however opposed to his prin- 
ciples, if expediency dictated praise as politic ; " or, 
that u Cicero's praise of any one might not carry 
much weight, for he praised even Casar" 

On the other hand, if the speaker meant to con- 
vey that " even Cicero praised Caesar," he would 
put the emphasis of force on " Cicero" and mark 
" Casar" with a rising inflection-: — 

Cicero praised Caesar, 

implying that " Ccesar must have been deserving of 
praise, since even Cicero praised him" 

A thousand examples might be adduced to show 
that just inflection and emphasis act as a comment, 
and have almost a power of amplification, as it were, 
of the text : so that a good Elocution not only 
serves fully to convey and enforce meaning, but it 
will enable a speaker to compress his language, 
supplying exuberance of words by the use of just 
and forcible inflection and emphasis ; and thus, 
secondarily, may conduce to terseness and com- 
pactness of style in a spoken oration, saving time 
and labour, both to orator and auditor, — surely a 



ELOCUTION AND RHETORIC. 161 

great advantage to a public speaker. He who by 
force of Elocution can express as much, and impress 
it as strongly in one sentence, as his antagonist, for 
want of that power, will convey in two, has clearly 
stolen a march upon his opponent. Still greater 
will be the Elocutionist's advantage over him, 
supposing each to possess equal talents as rhe- 
toricians, if to just inflection and emphasis he add 
the higher graces of the art. Thus his oration — 
framed on a due but not pedantic observance of 
logical and rhetorical rules, and delivered on just 
principles of elocutionary art, (that is, on principles 
drawn from nature herself) — clearness of narration, 
strength of reasoning, and perspicuity of style, set 
off and heightened by happy illustration, brilliant 
bursts of feeling and passionate expression — lan- 
guage, voice and gesture aiding and seconding 
each other — will have the effect of a perfect picture ; 
which — embracing happy contrast and relief of light 
and shade; glowing but not exaggerated colouring, 
with darker and more sombre tints; truthfulness of 
detail, with a general harmony; distant and shadowy 
suggestions of remote objects with the bold and 
massive outlines of the foreground — shall leave 
the mind satisfied, delighted, and subdued to the 
master's hand. 

Intonation, Expression, Energy. 

The principles developed in the preceding parts 
have taught us to read and speak with meaning, 
force, and ease. But Elocution has a higher aim : 

M 



]G? AET OF £LOCUTTOK, 

she follows the human voice in its natural and 
unrestrained expression of intense feeling ; she 
accompanies it "in the very torrent, tempest, and 
whirlwind of its passion;" she knows it in its joy 
and in its sorrow ; she catches^ and treasures up its 
intonations of love and hate, persuasion and com- 
mand, scorn, pity, tenderness, and rage ; ancl, by the 
power of her " so potent art," she holds them like 
familiar spirits, to be let loose at will. 

Under her teaching, he who will, may learn their 
mastery ; subdue them to his power ; and call them 
to his aid, when he would cast a spell over the 
minds and hearts of his fellow-men. 

This is the highest triumph of Elocution ; — the 
truthful utterance of intense and passionate feeling. 

This is to be attained by the power of Intona- 
tion, Expression, Energy ; the Crowning Graces of 
Elocution. 

INTONATION. 

Intonation imparts true and perfect tone to the 
organ of the voice : its practice forms the Educa- 
tion of the Voice, and gives it fulness and volume. 

The human voice (as I have before observed) 
must be regarded as a musical instrument — an 
Organ, To produce its tones, its bellows — the 
lungs — must be kept duly inflated, or supplied with 
breath ; the pipe — the throat — must have full play ; 
the orifice of the mouth must be well opened, and 
the sound must be poured through it in a copious, 
swelling stream, interrupted, momentarily, by 
pause or rests, on which it gathers fresh impetus 
for its onward course. 



ISroSTATION, 163 

Many a voice is called weak, not because it is 
really deficient in natural power, but because its 
possessor is ignorant of. or unpractised in, the 
mechanical means of eliciting, improving, and 
displaying its strength. For the means are me- 
c/ianical, and consist of the following— 

PROCESS OF INTONATION. 

1. Inflation of the Lungs (to begin), and regularly sup- 
plying what they expend in respiration — by an imperceptible 
inspiration, or catch of the breath at each pause — (and here 
the rhetorical pause is of great service}. 

2. Opening the Mouth well — not speaking through the 
teeth — or, as it called, " eating your words " — (which nme 
speakers out of ten do). 

3. Pouring out the Yoice regularly, with an even and 
continuous fiow and swell; not in irregular jerks and starts. 

This process is perfectly simple, and merely 
requires exercise to make it easy. It is, in fact, 
the same art as that which every one has observed 
in public singers ; who, however, display the me- 
chanical means too manifestly, and in some in- 
stances painfully, by distortion of visage and 
heaving of chest. This exhibition of the physical 
effort must be avoided by the Elocutionist : Ars est 
celare artem. The machinery must be worked, but 
the springs and wheels must be kept out of sight. 

SWELL OF VOICE. 

The swell of sound is called in music ci*escendo, or increasing, 
and is denoted by this mark, -< ; and the diminishing of ihs 
sound is called diminuendo, thus denoted, >-. 
M 2 



164 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

The whole swell and decrease is therefore thus de- 
noted <^=- 

I shall adopt the same respective marks; — to denote the 
increasing of the volume of voice — and its diminution. 



INSPIRATION. 

Observe that the pauses afford the opportunity for regular 
inspiration, to supply expended breath ; a resort absolutely 
necessary in order to powerful enunciation and perfect in- 
tonation ; for there can be no command of voice without a 
perfect command of breath. 

I have previously laid it down, that in the 
delivery of serial sentences — where the sense goes 
on increasing by amplification — the volume of 
voice or sound should also increase {crescendo) up 
to the climax : but remember, that shouting is not 
Intonation.* 

Observing this, and also the rules of pause and 
inflection on Series, let the reader practise himself 
sm the following 



* There v is a marked distinction between noise and musical 
sound. Noise is a confused mixture of sounds produced 
by the concussion of non-elastic bodies ; whereas musical 
sound is a pure harmonious effect emanating from a simple 
elastic body, as the tone of a bell. It is a curious fact, that 
musical sounds fly farther and are heard at a greater distance 
than those which are more loud and noisy. If we go on the 
outside of a town during a fair, at the distance of a mile, we 
hear the musical instruments ; but the din of the multitude 
which is overpowering in the place, can scarcely be heard, the 
noise dying upon the &pot.—Gardiner > s Music of Nature. 



INTONATION. 165 



EXERCISE ON INTONATION. 

1. In times, when the whole habitable earth* 1 is in a state of 
chfuigd and fluctuation, * 5 - 

when deserts are starting up** 1 into civilised empires 
around you,* 1 - 

and when men,** 1 no longer the slaves of particular 
countries,* 1 much less of particular governments, **'- 

enlist themselves,** 1 like the citizens of an enlight- 
ened world,** 1 into whatever communities* 1 where their civil 
liberties maybe best protected, * 1 - 

it never can be* 1 for the advantage of this country* 1 
to prove * 1 - 

that the strict letter of the laws* 1 is no security to 
its inhabitants. 

2. The following exordium of Brutus' speech to 
the populace, also affords an excellent exercise for 
the student ; who will remember that Brutus is 
supposed to be addressing a large and turbulent 
popular assembly in the open air ; and therefore 
a powerful intonation is required, in order to obtain 
even a hearing. 

Romans* 1 countrymen* 1 and lovers ! Hear me* 1 for my 
Ciiase*^- and he silent* 1 that you may hear. Believe me* 1 for 
mine honour* 1 - and have respect to mine honour* 1 that you may 

M 3 



1^5 akt of Etocriicrav 

believe. Censure me in your wisdom" 1 - and awake your 

senses "^ that you may the better judge, i If there be any"* 1 

in this assembly ^ any dear friend of Cajsar^- to him I &3j^ 

that Brutus 7 lore for Cassar* 5 was no less than his. If then'" 1 

that friend demand M why Brutus rose against Caesar*""- this is 

my answer^- Not*^ that I loved Csesar^ less* 1 - but" 1 that I 

loved KoHie"" 1 more I 

If the pupil will exercise himself in this last pas- 
sage aloud, commending on a low tone, — inspiring 
on the pauses, so as to keep his lungs filled with 
breath, and increasing the volume of his voice on 
the < crescendo, — he will make considerable ad- 
vance in the practice of Intonation* As he pro- 
ceeds, he will find that his voice will ascend and 
take a higher pitch. The use of the long pause 
(as at the word "judge ") will serve to resume the 
tone on which he commenced. 

INTONATION OF POETRY, 

We have hitherto confined our exercises to Prose 
readings \ — on the principle that we must learn to 
walk before we run. But Intonation is so con- 
nected with, and necessary to the reading and 
delivery of verse and poetic language, that it is now 
a proper time and place to introduce some ob~ 
serrations on 



POSTICAL INTONATION, 16Y 



POETICAL ELOCUTION. 

It is first to be observed, that the general style 
of reading or reciting verse and poetic language, 
should be higher and more exalted than that of 
prose : for poetry is a more exalted style of com- 
position than prose : and the Elocution must keep 
pace with the subject or matter. The voice must 
flow more softly; must undulate gently, and not 
jump or jerk on the inflections ; so that the verse 
may run smoothly and without jar upon the ear. 
Intonation must be particularly attended to in 
poetical* delivery ; so that the music of the voice 
being fully brought out, it may aid and give echo 
to the music of the language. 

This style I call the imaginative style of Elo- 
cution : because it is the style to be adopted in the 
delivery of all imaginative composition, whether in 
prose or verse. For, I need not remark that there 
is poetical prose, which must be delivered in the 
imaginative or poetical style ; and we all painfully 
know that there is poetry — or rather verse — so 
irredeemably prosaic, that no reading or Elocution 
could possibly invest it with the attributes of 
poetry : the best way is not to read it at all. 

As an example of poetic prose, take the follow- 
ing— 

EXTRACT FROM OSSIAW. 

As Autumn's dark storms pour from two echoing hills, 
so toward each other approached the heroes. As two dark 
streams from high rocks meet and mix, and roar on the 
m 4 



103 AHT OF ELOCUTION. 

plain ; loud, rough, and dark, in battle met Loehlin and In- 
nisfail ; chief mixed his strokes with chief, and man with 
man. Steel clanging sounded on steel. Helmets are cleft on 
high; blood bursts and smokes around. As the troubled 
noise of the ocean when roll the waves on high ; as the last peal 
of the thunder of heaven ; such is the noise of battle. The 
groan of the people spreads over the hills. It was like the 
thunder of night when the cloud bursts on Cona, and a 
thousand ghosts shriek at once on the hollow wind. 

Such language as this must not be delivered as 
Common prose; but the speaker's Elocution must be 
swelling, exalted, dignified; in fine, elevated to the 
level of the composition. In the same manner, 
in the delivery of any figurative passage in an 
ordinary discourse or oration, — where the orator, 
borne aloft on the wings of his imagination, quits 
the common track of language and soars in the 
regions of fancy, — the Elocution must also rise, and 
sustain a flight equal in loftiness and ambition to 
the elevation of the orator's diction and style. As 
in the following — 



EXTRACT FROM BURKE.* 

In the course of all this proceeding, your lordships will 
not fail to observe, he is never corrupt but he is crue' : he 
never dines with comfort, but where he is sure to create a 
famine. He never robs from the loose superfluity of standing 
greatness ; he devours the fallen, the indigent, the neces- 
sitous. His extortion is not like the generous rapacity of 
the princely eagle, who snatches away the living, struggling 

* Impeachment of Warren Hastings. 



OROTUND. 1G9 

prey ; he is a vulture who feeds upon the prostrate, the dying 
and the dead. As his cruelty is more shocking than his cor- 
ruption, so his hypocrisy has something more frightful than 
his cruelty. For whilst his bloody and rapacious hand signs 
proscriptions and sweeps away the food of the widow and the 
orphan, his eyes overflow with tears ; and he converts the 
healing balm,, that bleeds from wounded humanity, into a 
rancorous and deadly poison to the race of man. 

Every one feels how much this passage rises 
above the ordinary diction of prose, — that it is, in 
fact, a flight of oratory. The Elocution must keep 
pace with it ; that is, the imaginative style must be 
adopted, 

One of the main characteristics* of this lofty style 

is what is called the orotund voice : that is, that 

full- and swelling tone which is produced by the 

same organic form and action of the mouth as are 

7 
necessary perfectly to enunciate the tonic o, as in 

7 7 

o-ld, c-o-l-d, &c. To utter this tonic perfectly, the 
mouth is kept in a rotund form, and the tone 
produced is called orotund {ore rotundo). By 
carefully reading the following lines, with particular 

7 

attention to the enunciation of the tonic o, and 
swelling the voice upon it, the pupil will attain a 
clear perception of the orotund voice. 



Oh holy Hope** 1 that flows thro' all my soul ! 
From pole to pole""" 1 the deep-toned thunder? roll. 
I^w b^ilow moans** 1 proclaim his deep-souled woe. 



170 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

Now, the form of the mouth in uttering these 

7 

lines must, from the prevalence of the tonic o, 
be rotund ; and the quality of voice must be 
orotund. The, art is to be able to preserve that 
quality of voice in other passages in which that 

.7 

tonic sound of o does not prevail; but which, 
nevertheless, require, and are capable of receiving, 
on the tonics which they do contain, the full swel- 
ling tone of the orotund, as in the following — 

PRACTICE ON OROTUND. 

And all the clouds*' 1 that lower d upon our house, ~ 1 - 

In the deep hosom of the ocean** 1 buried. 

Shah. 

All are bmt parts ^ of one harmonious whole, *" 1 - 

Whose body nature is ^ and God the soul ! 

Pope. 

With woeful measures,*"' wan Despair,* 1 
t 

Low** 1 sullen sounds,"* 1 his grief beguiled. 

Collins. 

The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 

Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years ; 

But thou*' 1 shalt nourish in immortal youth.*""— 

Unhurt *? amidst the war of elements* 1 

The wreck of matter" and the crush ,~>f worlds. 



OHOTUNJX 171 

To Scriptural reading, and prayer, the orotund 
is most appropriate : for its full swelling tone lends 
depth and solemnity to the delivery, and is strongly 
expressive of reverential feeling. The acquisition 
and command of the orotund, therefore, is essential 
to the clergyman, whose voice is required to fill a 
large building, not only so as to he audible, but 
with a deep and solemn effect that shall secure the 
attention, respect and sympathy of his auditors. 
The figurative and sublime language of the Old 
Testament must not be uttered (as it too frequently 
is) in the familiar and undignified tone in which 
we would deliver an ordinary lecture, or make a 
statement of finance ; and even the beautiful sim- 
plicity of the New Testament must not be vul- 
garised and degraded to the familiar tone of common- 
place conversation or narration. The dignity of 
his subject, his office, its high aim, the place, the 
occasion, all demand from the clergyman, dignity of 
style and manner ; and the orotund voice,, with its 
full, swelling stream of sound, is the one adapted 
to that end. It should, therefore, be a great and 
constant object of the. clergyman to educate his 
voice and utterance upon this point. More than 
these few hints on Scriptural reading I cannot give 
here ; it is a style of itself, which, requires con- 
siderable practice, and cultivation of voice, so as to 
avoid, on the one hand, meanness, and familiarity 
in aiming at simplicity : and, on the other, to escape 
bombast and turgidity, while aspiring to dignity 
m& power. 



1^2 ART (W E^O^ITTION. 



READING OF VERSE. 



The previous observations apply to the general 
style of poetical Elocution, whether in prose or 
verse. In the reading of verse, we must, more- 
over, be careful to preserve Rhythm and Melody. 

1. Rhythm is musical order of arrangement: it 
is as pleasing and indeed necessary to the satisfaction 
of the ear, as symmetry and regularity of form are 
to the eye. In music, rhythm governs the leaping 
or gushing of the sound ; in dance, it regulates the 
beating of the feet ; in language, it directs or ar- 
ranges the pulsations or strokes of the voice upon 
words or syllables ; or, as it is called in music, 
the accentuation, I have before observed, that 
there is a rhythm even in prose ; but it is uncertain, 
irregular, and fickle. Yerse is the music of lan- 
guage ; rhythm is its essential quality ; the regu- 
larity and perfection of which distinguish it from 
prose. Yerse is addressed to the ear ; its music is 
not received through the eye (although a regular 
marginal blank may seem to mark the versification 
on paper); and, therefore, it is as requisite, in read- 
ing verse, to mark the rhythmical accentuation of 
the line, as it is, in playing or singing, to observe 
due time. That is, we must regulate the pulsation 
and movement of sound by the voice, to the 
1 osculated metrical accentuation (or rhythm) of the 
v^rse, 

English verse consists of the arrangement, at 
regular intervals, of accented and wzaccented, — or, 



MEASURE OF VERSE. 173 

more properly speaking, of heavy and light sylla- 
bles. 

This regular arrangement, or order, constitutes 
the rhythm of the verse, — whether that verse be 
blank or in rhyme. Rhyme is the coincidence of 
sound in the closing cadence of one line with that 
of another ; it has no reference to or influence upon 
the rhythm, from which it is perfectly distinct, nor 
is it an essential constituent of English poetry. - 

Latin and Greek Verse is measured, by pro- 
sodians, by certain adjustments of syllables, long 
and short, called feet: of these feet there is a great 
variety, of which the principal are the — 

Spondee — two long syllables, as milndus, 
Trochee — one long and one short syllable, as Bella, 
Iambus — one short and one long, as cano, 
Dactyl — one long and two short, as tegnnne, 
Anapaest — two short and one long, as recubdns. 

But, of that style of scanning our English verse 
is quite independent, and indeed incapable. The 
syllables in our language cannot be classed as long 
or short, for the same syllables may vary in quan- 
tity, as they occur in different verses, according to 
the amount of feeling or force that may be given 
to them. English verse is regulated by the ar- 
rangement of heavy and light syllables, and depends 
for its musical effect upon time and accentuation ; 
or, pulsation and remission of sound, en the .heavy 
and light syllables, respectively. 



174 AKT OF ELOCUTION. 

English verse may be divided into common time 
and triple time: the first being the pace of a man's 
walk ; the second of a horse's canter. The accentu- 
ation is, as in music, always on the bar; that is, 
the accented note, or heavy syllable, must com* 
mence the bar, or its place must be supplied by a 
rest, which counts for it ; for rests are as essential 
to rhythm as the notes themselves. 

Thus we can divide or bar for accentuation, all English 
verse. Take the following three examples, as timed, barred, 
and accented: the two first are in common time, the third is in 
triple time : — 

— | ^^ A | present | deity | £ they | shout a | round 1 ** | 



[ **T A | present | deity | "* ** the | vaulted | roofs re- | 
bound" 1 | 

— Softly | sweet in | Lydian | measures | 

/ / / / 

Soon he | soothed his | soul to | pleasures. | 

— | *"* The | princes ap | plaud with a | furious | joy" 1 | 

8 

| ** And the | king seized a | flambeau with | zeal to de- | 

stroy. ' I 

The pulsation of voice, and the classification and division 
of the syllables, as accented and arranged in the preceding 
couplets, distinctly mark their different rhythm. — To illus- 
trate this further, read the second line of the third couplet as 
if it were thus divided and accented : — 



MEASURE OF VOICE. 17 5 

| And the king | seized a flambeau j with zeal | to de- 
stroy. | 

Thus read, the verse becomes prose ; for, by false accentua- 
tion, its musical movement is lost, and the rhythm is destroyed. 

At the same time be careful not to fall into that 
sing-song style of reading verse, which is produced 
by the accentuation of little and insignificant 
words. 

This sing-song style, so common among readers, 
is the result of the absurd attempt of prosodians to 
measure English versification by feet, instead of by 
time and accentuation. The music of a verse is not 
to be ascertained by counting on the fingers, or 
scanning (as it is called) ; but by the ear.* 

English \evse consists of a certain number of 
bars, in the same time ; of which the rests or 
pauses are constituent parts : and it is therefore as 
much on the due observance of these rests, as on 
the accentuation of the notes or syllables, that the 
rhythm depends. 

Take the following examples of verses scanned first accord- 
ing to the feet of the prosodians, counted on their fingers, and 
then according to the rational prosody which really governs 
the rhythm of English verse, — that is, time and accentuation. 
According to the former plan, it w^ill be observed that the 
sense is utterly sacrificed to the scanning, for want of rest or 
pause, however necessary it may be to the meaning or feeling 
of the verse ; while, by the latter plan, the rhythm, sense, and 
feeling go hand in hand, and are aided by rests. 

* See this subject diffusely and learnedly treated in Steele's 
Prosodia Rationalis. 



1*76 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

Prosodial scanning by feet — 

IAMBICS. 
%*> — w — \»» — w •• 

On the | bare earth I exposed | he lies, j 

\y — \s — >*/ — »%/ — 

With not | a friend | to close | his eyes. | 

A mode of scanning, if adhered to in the reading, which 
would utterly destroy the sense and power of the lines. They 
should be thus barred, timed, and accented: — 



I J 



O" 



n r 



*-:: 



On the | bare | earth ^ | ^ ex- | posed he | lies,* 1 | 



m q 



-i r 



* With | not a | friend ~> | ^ to 



close his 



eyes 



By which we find, that these are verses of six bars, in com- 
mon time, the rests filling up the bars, exactly where the 
sense requires a pause. And so in the following examples ; 
in which it will be seen that verses which would be said by 
the prosodians to consist of four feet, are, in general, verses 
of six bars; and that what would, in scanning, be called by 
prosodians pentameters, or five-feet verses, are really lines of 
six, and sometimes even of eight bars. — The time, either triple 
or common, is denoted in the following examples by the 
figure 2. (common), or 3. (triple.) 



THREE BARS. 

2. | Oh the | sight en | trancing | 

| i- When the | morning's | beam is j glancing, ( 



MEASURE OF VERSE. 177 

I * O'er j files ar | rayed * | 
j ** With j helm and | blade r j 
\ ** And | plumes in the | gay wind | dancing, | 

3. | ~ Up | early and | late,* 1 | 
| ** To | toil and to | wait,*i | 
| ** To | do as one's | bid," 1 | 
|~ Yet for ] ever be | chid, 1- | 
| ^ 111 | humour to | bear," 1 | 
| *• And | yet | not to | dare," 1 | 
| ** Tho' with | anger we | burn," 1 | 
| ^ To be | cross in re | turn." 1 | 

FOUR BARS. 

3. j Place me in | regions of e | ternal* 1 | winter" 1 ] 

j Where not a | blossom to the | breeze can | open" 1 but | 

/ / / / 

I Darkening | tempests^ | closing all a | round me" 1 | 

Chill the ere [ ation j 

S. J Sage be J neath a | spreading j oak'**' j 

| Sate the | Druid | hoary ] chief "T 

| Every | burning | word he | spoke ** \ 
/ / / ' "> 

| lull of | lago and j full of | grief. ^ j 



BIX AND FOUR BARS. 

/ / 

3. I ** " When J ne who a I dores thee j ^"'has j left but 
the 1 name 



178 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

) ** Of his | fault and his J sorrow ho ! lived '^ I 
J Oh ! ^ | say r " | r*» wilt thou | weep when they [ 
darken the | fame^ | 
I '■**{. U a I life thai for | thee was re { signed M ? | 

SIX BARS. 

2. j ** A I (Mies' | wrath *"' to [ Greece the | direful | 
spring"* | 
| M Of | woes un | number'd**- | heavenly ] Goddess j 



It will be found by reading verse according to this system, 
«—of marking the rhythm by time and accentuation,— that it 
will flow much more easily than when read by prosodial scan- 
ning: nor shall we be obliged to make elisions of vowels for 
the purpose of preserving the apparent regularity of the line, — 
that is, according to the plan of counting the syllables on the 
fingers. No poet has suffered more from this pedantic 
method of measuring English verse, than Shakspere, whose 
commentators have not scrupled to add syllables to, or deduct 
syllables from his lines, in order to give them "the right 
butter-woman's pace to market;" and this because these 
learned gentlemen, instead of receiving the music of his verse 
through their ears, measured his lines, like tape, upon their 
ringers: and if they did not happen exactly to fit the pre- 
scribed length, they laid him upon the Procrustes' bed of 
their prosodial pedantry, and stretched him out, if too short, 
or cut him down, if too long ! Thus they have succeeded, in 
some instances, in " curtailing " his verse of its beauty and 
"fair proportions, 3 ' by the elision or blending oi vowels 
whose utterance really forms the music of the lines. For 
example, of the line — 

O *• | Romeo! | Romeo! | wherefore | art thou | Romeo? | 



MEASURE OP VERSE. 



179 



they would make a verse of what they would call five feet, 
with a redundant syllable ; and, to do this, they are obliged 
to reduce the melodious name of Rome-o to two syllables; 
and scan it thus : — 

\s — vy — v> — v>>— \^ — \s 

Oh Ro | myo Ro | myo where | fore art | thou Ro | myo ? 

thus clipping and defacing the language, for the sake of 
levelling it to the standard of a false prosody. 

Again, if we follow this prosodial finger-measuring of verse, 
what becomes of the force and depth of the heart-wrung ex- 
clamation of Samson (Agonistes), when he exclaims: — 

Oh ! dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon ! 
The prosodians would thus measure it : — 

Oh dark | dark dark, | amid | the blaze | of noon | 

and thus destroy all the force and passion of the line. A rati- 
onal prosody, preserving the feeling, as well as the rhythm of 
the verse, would thus divide it into eight bars, timing it duly, 
and marking it with rests that add to its beauty and power. 



O 



. 1 



o 



'# 



I 







2. Oh | dark | dark ] dark | a- | mid the | blaze of | noon. 

Thus we preserve all the expression of the verse, and dis- 
tinguish its melody and rhythm from such a verse as the fol- 
lowing, which has exactly the same number of syllables 
as the above line, and would, by the prosodians, be scanned 
exactly in the same manner ; yet it has quite a diilerent 
movement : — 

A burdenous drone, to visitants a gaze. 
If we follow the prosodians, we shall thus scan this line ; — 

*y — \j — \s — \*» -» V/ ■* 

A burd' | nous drone | to vis | itants | a gaze. 
K 2 



180 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

If we follow good taste, common sense, and rhythmical ac- 
centuation, we shall thus measure it; - 

/ / s / 

3. ] I ***" 1 A | burdenous | drone*" 1 to | visitants a | gaze.** 1 

It is thus a line of five bars, in triple time: and the chango 
from common time is in keeping with the expression. 

The fame of the following line, which owes its lightness and 
beauty to its accentuation and triple time : — 

3. Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn. 

It is on the variation of time and accentuation that the verse 
of Milton depends so much for its force and melody. The poet 
has studiously adapted the time and movement of his verse to 
the effect intended to be produced ; but the system of scanning 
reduces all verse to the same humdrum jog-trot. 

" The native wood-notes, wild," says Kemble, " which could 
delight the cultivated ear of a Milton, are not to be regulated 
by those who measure verses by their fingers." 

And yet it is recorded of Kemble (r.nd the anecdote is an 
excellent satire upon prosodial scanning), that in obedience 
to this finger-measuring of verse, the second of the following 
lines in the Tempest, — 

" I'll rack thee with old cramps, 

Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar, 
That beasts shall tremble at thy din," — 

was thus read by Kemble: — 

" Fill all thy bones with aitches, make thee roar," — 

an absurdity really ridiculous, committed in order to make up 
the full number of ten syllables, or five feet, of which, accord- 
ing to prosodial scanning, the verse is composed. Th<5 tune, 
measure, and reading of the line are thus* — 



RHYTHMICAL READING. 181 

MM h I lit 

2a ^FiU | all thy | bones ~ with. [ aches" 8 * | make thee [ roar^ 1 | 



The rest after " aches" fills up the rhythm, prevents the 
absurdity of perverting "aches" into a word of two syllables, 
and adds to the force and expression of the line. Thus we 
see that, in rhythmical reading, the rests or pauses are as ne- 
cessary to the measure as the notes or syllables themselves. 
The Ccesural pause, spoken of by Blair and the prosodians, 
may sometimes suffice, with the rest at the close of the line, to 
make out the rhythm and sense of the verse; but, for fine, 
musical, and expressive reading of verse, other rests are ne- 
cessary, not only in the middle and at the close of the line, 
but in the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, or whatever bar 
the rhythm, sense, or feeling demands them. And the accen- 
tuation of the lines will not run on in the same unvarying 
Iambic jog-trot, but will change from common to triple time, 
and back again, just as the poet, if he have a fine ear, shall 
vary his verse, to produce a severe or light and airy effect. 

The following lines in blank verse and common 
time, are exceedingly rhythmical and melodious ; 
but their rhythm will be almost destroyed, and they 
will become merely poetical prose, if, in delivering 
them, we neglect to mark the variation, which is 
occasionally made by the poet in the movement of 
his verse, — by change of time and accentuation. 

A SABBATH MORN. — Gkahamr 

/ / / / 

How still the morning** 1 of the hallowed day! M 

/ / / / / 

•Mute is the voxe** 1 of rural labour, 1 * 3 - hush'd* -1 

The ploughboy's whistle M and the milkmaid's song! — 
K 3 



182 ART OF ELOCUTION. 



T.hz scythe lies glittering** 1 - in the dewy wrtatli^ 

/ / / / / 

Of tedded grass,* 3 * 1 - mingled with faded flowers,* 1 

/ / / / / 

That yestermorn^bloom'd* 1 waving in the breeze. 

/ / / • / 

Sounds" the most faint'* 1 attract the ear* 1 — the hum 

Of early bee* the trickling of the dew,"* 1 

/ / . / / 

The distant bleating*'' midway up the hill. — 

/ / / / 

Calmness sits throned* 1 - on yon unmoving cloud. 

/ / / / 

To him who wanders* 5 o'er the upland leas,* 1 

/ / / / 

The blackbird's note*' comes mellower from the dale ; 

/ / / / 

And sweeter from the sky* 1 the gladsome lark* 1 

/ / / / / 

Warbles his heav'n-tuned song; the lulling brook* 1 

/ / / / / 

Murmurs more gently* 1 down the deep-worn glen; 

/ / / / 

While from yon roof 3 ' 1 - whose curling smoke* 1 

/ / / / 

O'ermounts the mist* 1 - is heard,* 1 at intervals,* 1 

The voice of psalms* 1 - the simple song of praise. 

A rest, or slight suspension of voice, at the end 
of each line, is essential to the rhythmical reading 
of all verse : it can scarcely ever be omitted except 
in the delivery of — 



DRAMATIC POETRY ; 

in which, the suspension at the close of eacli line 
isust not be allowed to interrupt the flow of lan- 
guage and feeling. The great object of dramatic 
poetry is the natural and powerful expression of 
passion: this is the grace paramount, to which all 



MELODY AND CADENCE. 183 

others must bend, and which must not be sacrificed 
to any minor embellishments. It is true, the verse 
in which that passionate expression is clothed lends 
it dignity and elegance, and therefore, even on the 
stage, rhythm and metre must be preserved in 
delivery ; but it must be done easily and without 
pedantry or apparent effort. For he would make 
but a poor impression on the heart, who, in an over- 
whelming burst of passion, should stop to note a 
cresural pause, or the rest which, in ordinary poeti- 
cal reading, marks the close of the line. If he be an 
artist, a correct ear and good taste will prevent the 
actor from wantonly destroying the poet's rhythm ; 
judgment will guide him in passages where he may, 
with propriety and grace, linger on the melody of 
the lines ; while the power of truthful feeling and 
passionate enthusiasm, will exalt him above the 
trammels of ordinary rule which would tame his 
imagination, and fetter his energies. 

This much is all that I have thought necessary to 
remark on the subject of the delivery of dramatic 
yyoelry. Its further study, with constant and patient 
practice, added to a good ear, a cultivated voice, 
and a taste refined by reading and education, is 
requisite to the actor. What I have here inciden- 
tally observed is sufficient for the orator, the scholar, 
and the unprofessional reader, aiming at an elegant 
style of Elocution. 



2. Melody and Cadence are requisite to give 
finish to rhythmical Elocution. 

N 4 



184 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

Melody and Cadence are graces arising from the a range- 
ment and variation of pitch by inflection of votei. 

Read aloud, as marked, the following — 

EXAMPLE. 

On her white breast*" 1 a sparkling cross she v/ore* 1 - 
Which Jews might kiss'" 1 and infidels adore. 

Experiment will convince the reader that no other arrange- 
ment of inflections on these lines can produce a melody equal 
to that which is here given. That mehdy pervades both verses ; 
in the closing line of the sense, I call it cadence, for cadence is 
the consummation or close of a melody. 

This melody is produced by alternation of inflection : the 
cadence marked in the second line of the couplet is distin- 
guished as the harmonic cadence*; it is formed by the intro- 
duction of two intermediate rising inflections of a third and 
fifth, between two falling inflections : the melody of the first 
line is composed of a similar alternation of inflection, with the 
variation of a rising inflection to mark the suspension of sense 
at the termination of the line. 

The introduction of this melody and cadence where the sense 
will admit of it, lends additional music to the rhythm : but they 
must not be used to supersede just inflection or Emphasis 
required by the sense: for the melody must never be permitted 
to destroy the force of the line. Nor must this cadence be too 

* The harmonic cadence may be used with grace in prose 
declamation, as well as in verse ; when the passage does not 
demand any particular force, as, — 

I shall content myself with wishing' 5 *' that I may be one of 
those"" 1 *" 1 whose follies may cease with their youth** 1 - and not of 

that number ^ who are ignorant*" 1 in spite of experience 

— Johnson* 



SMOOTHNESS. 183 

freqiicxuy resorted to, or it will give a singsong sameness to 
the reading — tiresome and unmeaning. 

It is to be observed tbat the inflections of the 
voice, in the reading of verse, are not to be marked 
so strongly, or, as I may say, so angularly, as in 
prose-reading. Smoothness, and an easy, flowing 
style, are to be cultivated ; and, therefore, the in- 
flections must be, as it were, rounded and polished; 
so that the voice shall not leap, but gently undulate 
from tone to tone, and float along in an unbroken 
stream of sound. 

A great fault in the reading of verse, is the too 
strongly marking, or, as I call it, hammering the 
rhyme ; this is destructive of melody, and has a 
most unpleasing effect on the ear. To avoid it, we 
must keep the voice suspended, avoiding a frequent 
recurrence of the falling inflection at the close of 
the line, except where the close of the sense, too, 
demands it. Otherwise we shall fall into that 
methodical, alternate, closing rise and fall which 
deprives rhythmical Elocution of all variety and 
grace. 

Pope's lines are good practice for melodious read- 
ing : for he frequently suspends the sense through 
several successive lines, and, so, affords opportunity 
for variety of inflection and cadence. I therefore 
give (marked) a passage extracted from his Essay 
on Man. 

HAPPINESS. 

Oh Happiness!** 1 our being's end and aim P- 
Good,*" 1 pleasure,*" 1 ease,* 1 content P-whate'er thy name**'- 



186 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

That something,'*' still which prompts th' eternal Sigt, M - 

Por which we bear to live,"" 1 or dare to die ;**- 

Which still so near us,"" 1 yet beyond us lies,^- 

O'erlook'd, seen double* 1 by the fool and wise *,**- 

Plant of celestial seed!* 1 if drop p'd below,"" 1 

Say in what mortal soil* 1 thou deign'st to grow ?'* 1 - 

Pair op'ning"^ 1 to some court's propitious shine,*" 1 - 

Or deep with diamonds^ in the flaming mine?^- 

Twin'd with the wreaths** 1 Parnassian laurels yield,* 1 - 

Or reap'd in iron harvests"* 1 of the field P* 1 - 

Where grows ? where grows it not? If vain our toil,* 1 

We ought to blame the culture,"* 1 not the soil : 

Pix'd to no spot*" 1 is happiness sincere,*^- 

'Tis nowhere to be found, ^ or everywhere: 

*Tis never to be bought,*' 1 but always free,* 1 - 

And fled from monarchs,* 1 dwells, my friend, with thee. 

It is not within the scope of this work to analyse the differ- 
ent rhythms and metres used in versification; but for the con- 
venience of the reader, the practice at the end of this part 
contains extracts in a variety of rhythm ; by exercise on which, 
in accordance with the preceding rules and directions, he may 
acquire an elegant and easy style of rhythmical Elocution. 

We now proceed to 

EXPRESSION. 

Expression is the modulating or regulating the 
organ of the voice to tones of gentleness or force, 



EXPRESSION. 187 

according to the nature and degree si feeling, or 
passion expressed in words. Expression is the 
natural language of emotion. It is, in Elocution, 
to a certain extent, a vocal imitation of passion. 
But this must be done without " aggravating the 
voice" (as Bottom has it). It is a grace which 
requires the nicest management; and cannot be 
achieved but with the best cultivation of ear and 
voice ; in order to catch and re-echo the tones of 
the heart to the ears and hearts of others. It de- 
pends mainly upon pitch of voice, and the expres- 
sion of each different feeling has its appropriate 
pitch.* 

Expression therefore is a refinement on Intona- 
tion : they go hand in hand : we cannot think of 
the one without the other. Intonation gives the 
voice volume and power ; expression uses and 
adapts it to the feeling of the moment, 

Even monotone has its expression. 



* Roger Ascham, tutor to Queen Elizabeth, thus quaintly 
writes, touching the matter of pitch of Toice : — 

" Where a matter is spoken with an apte voyce for everye 
affection, the hearers, for the most part, are moyed as the 
speaker woulde ; but when a man is always in one tone, like a 
humble-bee, or else now in the top of the church, now downs 
that no man knoweth where to have him; or piping like a reede, 
or roaring like a bull as some lawyers do, which thinke they 
do best when they crye loudest ; these shall never move, as I 
know many well-learned have done, because theyr voyces t%*3& 
not stayed afore, with learninge to singe. For all voyces, great 
and small, base and shrill, may be hoipen and brought to a good 
point by learninge to singe." 



188 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

MONOTONE 

is intonation without change of pitch : that is, prcseryfsg 1 
fulness of tone, without ascent or descent on the scale. 

THE EXPRESSION OF MONOTONE. 

It expresses repose of feeling or scene — the calm confidence 
of power — vastness of thought — veneration — and the over- 
awing sublimity of grandeur. 

But it must not be listless, vapid, soulless mono- 
tone ; it must be a deep, swelling, crescendo mono- 
tone, speaking as it were from the recesses of the 
heart ; as, — 

JBtJ BL4, 



\\U 1 1 



\ — I- 



Calm-ness sits throned on yon un-mo-ving cloud. 

It requires practice ; and the practice of mono- 
tone tends essentially to the improvement of into* 
nation. 

The sign of monotone is an even line or mark (denoting an 
even tone of voice) over the words to be spoken without in- 
flection : but mark, — the sound must swell and gather volomb 
as it proceeds. 

EXERCISE ON MONOTONE. 

Our revels now are ended : these our actor% 
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
Are melted into air, into thin air ; 
Aftd like the baseless fabric* 1 of this vision •*• 



MONOTONE. 189 

The cloud-capp'd towers,** 1 the gorgeous palaces""* 

Tho solemn temples ^ the great globe itself ~ 1 - 

Yea** 1 all which it inherit*" 1 shall dissolve ***- 

And* 1 like this unsubstantial pageant M faded * 

Leave not a rack** 1 behind. 

. Shakspcare* 

The following passage from Talfourd's classical tragedy cf 
Ion is also good practice in the Intonation of Monotone. 

Commence on a deep, full tone, 

Ye eldest Gods, 
Who in no statues of exactest form 
Are palpable ; who shun the azure heights 
Of beautiful Olympus, and the sound 
Of ever-young Apollo's minstrelsy ; 
Yet** 1 mindful of the empire which ye held 
Over dim Chaos,* 1 - keep revengeful wrath 
On falling nations, and on kingly lines 
About to sink for ever ; ye, who shed 
Into the passions of earth's giant brood ^ 
And their fierce usages,*"" 1 the sense of justice ; 
Who clothe the fated battlements of tyranny** 1 
With blackness as a funeral pall, and breathe 
Thro' the proud halls of time-emboldened guilfc 
Portents of nun,** 1 - hear me ! In your presence, 



190 ART OF ELOCUTION 

TT»"»r now I fee), you nigh, I dedicate 

Tins arm to the destruction of the king 

And of his race ! O keep me pitiless! 

Expel all human weakness from my frame, 

That this keen weapon shake not when Lis heart 

Should feel its point; and if he has a child 

Whose blood is needful to the sacrifice 

My country asks y harden my soul to shed it! 

PITCH OF VOICE. 

Expression, as I have said, depends chiefly upon 
pitcli of voice. 

We all know that the tones of the voice vary 
considerably, according to the affection of mind or 
passion under which a person speaks. We see this 
daily in nature — we hear a man give a command in 
one tone, and make an entreaty or ask a favour in 
another : his accents grow sharper and shriller in 
rage, and softer and more liquid in tenderness and 
affection : the voice is light and rapid in pleasure, 
— low, moaning, and broken in grief, — dull and 
heavy in pain,— cracked, wild y and shrieking in 
despair. The voice of deep passion, — -sorrow, love, 
woe, remorse, pity, &c, — is seated in the chest 
(vgco di petto), and its pitch is low : while that of 
mors impulsive passion, as rage, delight, triumph, 
&c, 33 high in pitch, and partakes of the quality of 
the head voice — (voce di testa). It is on our power 
to command our voice at will to any pitch that we 



PITCH OF VOICE. 191 

must fdy for vocal expression : that 1^ the adapta- 
tion of tone to sentiment and passion. 

Pitch is quite distinct from force; by which, how- 
ever, its effect may be aided and increased. 

The pitch of the speaking voice may be divided 
into — 

MIDDLE PITCH, 
HIGH PITCH, 
LOW PITCH. 

By middle, or mean pitch, I intend the ordinary 
pitch of voice, as used in common conversation, un- 
marked by passion. That pitch varies according to 
the quality or character of the individual voice, 
whether it be soprano, tenor, or bass. 

Suppose, for example, the natural key of any 
voice to be B |j, and the prevailing tone of its 

ordinary speech to be 7-^-7— fc—> the middle pitch 

of that voice may be considered to extend a third 
above and a third below that tone : and so of any 
other prevailing tone of any voice. 

Above and below the range of the middle pitch, 
are the high and low pitch respectively. Low- 
pitch may be said to be a third below the mean 
pitch ; and high pitch, a third above it : so that 
where middle pitch ascending ends, high pitch 
begins ; where middle pitch descending ends, low 
pitch begins: the range of each, high or low, de- 
pending of course on the compass of the speaker's 
voice. 



192 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

T3i3se are the clearest and most distinct indicia 
that I am able to give for the regulation of pitch on 
the speaking voice. 

Now, each of these three pitches, — the middle, 
the high, and the low, — has ito appropriate sphere 
of use or expression. 

1. The Middle is the proper pitch for narration, 
description (when not particularly animated), state- 
ment, and moral reflection, or calm reasoning. 

Such a poetical description as the following, for example, 
requires only middle pitch : — 

EXERCISE ON MIDDLE PITCH, 

Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish ; 

A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion, 

A tower'd citadel, or pendent rock, 

A forked mountain, or blue promontory, 

With trees upon it, that nod unto the world, 

And mock our eyes with air ; thou hast seen these signs ; 

They are black Vesper's pageants. 

That which is now a horse, even with a thought, 

The rack dislimns ; and makes it indistinct 

As water is in water. 

Shakspeare. 

Again, such a passage as the following requires, for the most 
pirt, with some variation, only middle pitch ; but the delivery 
should be energetic and forceful : — - 

Breathes there the man with soul so dea3, 
Who never to himself hath said, 

This is my own, my native land? 
Wao.se heart hath ne'er within him bunfij, 
As home his foot-steps he hath turn'd 



HIGH PITCH. 133 

"From Tendering on a foreign strand? 
If such there breathe, go mark him well : 
For him no minstrel's raptures swell. 
High tho' his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth, as wish can claim, 
Despite these titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch concentred all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung! 

Scoit. 

In fine, for all passages where there is no passion expressed, 
or which are not marked by strong excitement, or impetuosity 
cf feeling, — or are not descriptive of stirring action, the middle 
pitch is in general sufficient. 

2. High Pitch is the representative of elevated 
feeling, and impetuous, impulsive passion : joy, 
exultation, rage, invective, threat, eagerness, all 
speak naturally in high pitch : it is also proper to 
stirring description, or animated narration. 

It is the proper pitch for such a passage as the following, — 
the buoyant, joyous feeling of which is best expressed by the 
light and sparkling tones of high pitch. 

EXERCISE ON HIGH PITCH. 

If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, 
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand; 
My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne, 
And all this day an unaccustomed spirit 
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts, 

Shakspeare. 

And the following picture cf Cheerfulness requires high 
o 



I'll ART OF ELOCUTION. 

pitch, and a light and brisk articulation, to harmonic with its 
airy and elastic effect. 

Bat oh! how altered was its splightlier tone 

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung : 
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. 
The oak-crowned sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen, 
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, 
Peeping from forth their allies green ; 
Brown Exercise rejoie'd to hear, 
And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear. 

Collins. 

The lofty enthusiasm of the aspiring Hotspur, in the well- 
known speech which follows, is also best expressed in the high 
pitch (with a variation, for effect, to low pitch in the fourth 
line). 

By heavens ! methinks it were an easy leap 

To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon ; 

Or dive into the bottom of the deep 

Where fathom line could never touch the ground, 

And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ; 

So he that doth redeem her thence might wear 

Without corrival all her dignities ; — 

But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship! 

Shakspeare. 

3. Low Pitch is the natural expression of deep- 
seated feeling and concentrated passion, nursed 
darkly in the inmost recesses of the heart : it is the 
tone of grief , — suppressed rage, — brooding thought, 
— very solemn reflection, — melancholy, — hate, — re- 
morse ; and also, in its softest and deepest expres- 
eion> of lorn and veneration* 



low pitch. u£ 



EXEECISE ON LOW PITCH. 

W1& woeful measures* 1 wan Despair,— 

Low*' 1 sullen sounds^ his grief bega^Ieil'*^ 
A solemn, 5 " 1 strange,'* 1 and mingled" 1 air. 

Collins, 

Now o'er the one half world 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams 
Abuse the curtain'd sleep : now witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's fferings, and wither' d murder, 
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
Moves like a ghost. 

Skakspeare. 

Oh! now for ever, 

Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! 

Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 

That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 

Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 

The spirit-stirring drum, the ear- piercing fife, 

The royal banner, and all quality, 

Pride, pomp, and ch*cumstance of glorious war ! 

And oh, you mortal engines, whose rude throats 

The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 

Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! 

Skakspeare, 

Now, it is on the change and variation of these 
several pitches that an orator or an actor must 
depend for power of expression ; and the greater 
the facility with which he can make his transitions 
from pitch to pitch, the greater will be his effect on 
his audience- For there are many passages in 

O 2 



lff\ ART Ot? ELOCUTION. 

vehement oratory, poetry, and especially dramatic 
poetry, that require rapid and frequent transitions 
from high pitch to low, and run through every 
variety of tone. 



ENERGY, OR FORCE. 

Intimately allied to expression is energy, or 
forc€c 

Energy may be called the Emphasis of Ex- 
pression. It is the life, the soul, the animating 
spirit. Without it, the speaker may he correct, and 
even agreeable, by a due observance of rule ; but 
if he lack energy, he will be listened to without 
interest; his voice will fall powerless on the ear, 
and neither "awake the senses," nor "stir the 
blood." 

Energy, it is true, depends somewhat on indi- 
vidual temperament and constitution. But even 
where natural or physical energy is deficient, an 
energetic manner may be acquired by practice and 
exercise under judicious direction; just as the 
muscular powers may be improved, and bodily 
vigour increased, even in a feeble frame, under a 
course of training and well-regulated exercise. 

The first requisite, in order to create an interest 
in others, is to feel, or at least to exhibit, an 
earnestness ourselves. We must be in earnest. 
Between the orator and his auditory, there is a cer- 
tain involuntary sympathy communicated from one 
to the other. If he be himself animated and 
energetic, his audience soon acknowledge a kindred 



TIME. 197 

spirit ; if, on the contrary, lie be cold, they catch 
the infection ; if he be tame, they are apathetic ; 
if he be spiritless, they are listless : their torpor 
again re-acts upon him, and both orator and 
audience sleep, together. 

Energy quickens and infuses life into the style: 
it warms, it revivifies with its touch. It adds a 
brisker movement to the voice : it flushes the 
cheek, it lights the eye, it animates the frame ; and, 
passing like an electric spark from speaker to 
audience, it enkindles in them a sympathetic spirit, 
it arouses their enthusiasm, it takes possession of 
their hearts, and places their feelings, their reason, 
and their will, in the hands of him whose power 
has agitated the recesses of their souls. 

Force* is, after pitch, the next constituent of 
Expression : and the increasing or diminishing the 
amount of force on any passage is a matter re- 
quiring nice taste, and artistical execution, in 
governing the voice to forte (loud), and piano 
(soft). 

TIME. 

The last constituent of Expression is — Time, 
The time, that is, the rapidity or slowness of our 
delivery, must accord with the character of the 
feeling or passion expressed, — whether impetuous 
or concentrated ; — of the action, or scene described, 
— whether stirring or tranquil; — or of the sen- 
timent that pervades the language, — whether it be 
elevated, impulsive, glowing, or deep, solemn, and 
o 3 



198 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

enduring. For, different sentiments and passions., 
as they use different pitch, also speak in different 
time: the utterance of grief is slow and heavy; 
while that of hope and joy is light, hounding, and 
rapid. Again, the rush of an impetuous torrent, 
roaring and bursting over the plains, destroying 
vegetation, tearing up trees, carrying away cot- 
tages, in its resistless course, must be painted, as it 
were, to the ear, not only by appropriate pitch and 
force, but by a rapidity of utterance whose time 
shall be in keeping with the sweeping destruction 
described : while the placid flow of a gentle river, 
calmly gliding between its flower-spangled banks, 
amid a landscape of richest verdure, whose un- 
broken silence, and golden smile, caught from the 
rays of the setting sun, breathe the quiet happiness 
of content and peace, — this requires to be painted 
by a slow and even movement of the voice, — whose 
time shall accord with the tranquillity of the scene, 
and allow the hearer to dwell on the placid picture 
before him. 

As an illustration, continuing the speech of Brutus, which 
we have already commenced as an Exercise on Intonation, we 
proceed thus : — 

As Caesar loved me,* 1 - 1 weep for him;*' 1 as he was fortunate,*' 1 
I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant,* 1 I honour him; but,* 1 as he 
was ambitions,'* 1 I slew him. There is** 1 tears for his love ; 
joy for his fortune; honour for his valour,** 1 - and death** 1 for his 
ambition. 



EXPRESSION. 



iyj 



Such is the correct pausing, and such the just, and even 
forcible inflection and emphasis on this passage. But it wants 
much more, before it can be perfectly delivered : it wants 
expression : for it is clear that " weeping" " rejoicing," and 
" shying" result from very different and opposite affections 
or passions of the mind ; and this change in sentiment must 
be indicated by a correspondent transition in the pitch, and 
variation in force and time of delivery. 

To denote the varieties and changes of these three consti- 
tuents of Expression, I must employ the following signs and 
terms : — 



FOR PITCH,- 



TEUM. 

Middle Pitch 
Low Pitch 
Hfeh Pitch 



SIGN.. 

JH or m, 
33 or fc, 
& or a. 



FOR FORCE — 
It will he necessary to use terms denoting the following- 



200 



ART OF ELOCUTION. 



DYNAMICS, OR POWERS OF SOUND. 



Terra. 


Sign. 


Explanation. 


How, or for what to be used. 


piano . . 


. p. 


softly 


With a soft tone, expressive 
of calmness, gentleness, 
mildness, &c. 


pianissimo . 


pp. 


very softly . . 


increased expression of ten- 
derness, &c. 


forte . . 


• / 


loud 


the reverse of the above ; a 
loud, powerful tone. 


mezzo forte 


m.f. 


rather loud. 




fortissimo . 


# 


very loud . . . 


increased expression. 


crescendo . 


« 


increasing . . 


swelling the volume of voice. 


diminuendo 


> 


diminishing . . 


reducing the volume. 


forzando 


A 


bursting .... 


explosive, with a burst of 
sound. 


staccato * 1 


T T 


beating .... 


with short and distinct strokes 
of sound; to be used in 
rapid and energetic de- 
livery. 


legato . . 


leg. 


connected or 


a smooth, even flow of tone, 


(the reverse of 


smoothly . . 


proper for the delivery of 


staccato.) 






unimpassioned verse. 



The following terms denote the character of the expression 
proper to any passage : — 

affetuoso . . (q^fo.)-with emotion : expressive of deep feeling. 

dolce .... (dol.ysweetly ; expressive of tenderness, affection, 
pity, &c. 

maestoso with a grand, majestic expression, proper 

to solemn feeling. 

con spirito (con sp.)-with spirit ; for lively expression. 

con fuoco (con fu.ywiih fire; in an animated, energetic 
manner. 

con anima (con aw.)- with soul; that is, with a thrilling expres- 
sion of intense feeling. 



ENERGY. 201 



TIME. 



The following terms denote the time, or degree of rapidity- 
ox slowness of movement, to be adopted ; — 

adagio very slow — for solemn delivery. 

allegro . . . .(alio.} quick — for brisk, lively delivery. 

presto still quicker. 

andante middle time and distinct. 

largo slowly, with, fulness of tone. 

moderato in ordinary or middle time. 

ritard slackening the time. 

accelerando .... quickening the time. 



Using these terms and abbreviations, the same passage will 
be thus marked for expression, in addition to the previous 
marks of pause, &c. 

largo p. p.affo. allo.m.f. 

ffil As Ca3sar loved me,"* 1 - I weep for him; as he was form- 
at ^ ^ ^ 
nate,*' I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant,'* 1 1 honour him ; but ^ as 

«=C ^ ft largo p. affo. 

he was ambitious," 1 - I slew him. There is** 1 - tears for his love,' 8 * 1 

m/i <: frtf'. 

joy for his fortune;* 1 - honour for his valour,* 1 and death* 1 for 

his ambition. 

In narration, what force, what reality can be 
given to description by a speaker who, as it were, 
throws himself into the scene, and by the vivacity 
and energy of his delivery brings the action graphi- 
cally before your eyes, hurries you into the heat of 



202 . ART OF ELOCUTION. 

it, and makes you feel as if personally engaged in 
what is so stirringly related to you. 

As in that beautiful description, in Shakspeare's Henry lr. t 
of the gallant Prince Henry and his comrades armed for 
battle : — 

Andante, con spirito. 

$&, All furnish'd, ail in arms, 

Glitt'ring in golden coats like images ; 
As full of spirit as the month of May, 
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer! 

Alio. 

Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
I sa\f young Harry, with his beaver on, 
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, 

con fuico. 

3 Rise from the ground like feather' d Mercury, 
/. 
And vaulted with such ease into his seat, 

dolce. 

As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, 
/. 
jJJH To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 

And witch the world with noble horsemanship ! 

Unless this description, full of poetic imagination and 
colouring as it is, be delivered with warmth, energy, and the 
pitch or tone of enthusiasm, it will fall very short of its due 
impression ; and thus the poet will be deprived, by the 
speaker's coldness, of the full appreciation, by the hearer, of 
the exquisite beauty of the picture. The reader must catch 
the spirit of the language, in order to be a fit interpreter of 
the poet's conception ; as he proceeds, he must warm and 
kindle with the glowing colouring of the picture, till the 
finishing touch is given to it, in the closing, crowning line. 

But the force of his elocution must be greatly increased, 



PASSION. 203 

and the expression must become impassioned, and rise almost 
to fierceness, to produce the full effect of Hotspur's heroic and 
inspiring answer : which breathes the highest enthusiasm of 
confident and daring valour, undaunted resoluuuii, anu ini- 
patient thirst of gWy. 

HOTSPURS "EAGEKKESS rOR UAltlK, 
alio. confuoco. 

Q Let them come! 

f. 
<t$ They come* 1 like sacrifices in their trim, 

&i And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war, 

SOS. 

All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them! 

The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit 

ff. nt /. < 

fc Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire 

presto. 

To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, 

M 

And yet not ours! Come, let me take my horse, 
Which is to bear me like a thunderbolt 
Against the bosom ortne Frmce of Wales: 

staccato, ff, T T T 

Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, 

_^---~* ritard. *3 ff. 

Meet,** 1 - and ne'er part^ till one drop down a corse! 



Thus we see that Pitch, Force, and Time con- 
stitute expression ; united, with just discrimina* 
tion and in perfect keeping, they reach the climax 
of the power of Elocution, the acme of its art, — 
Passion. 

The mimicry of Passion, by the simultaneous ex- 
pression of voice, gesture, face, and attitude, is the 



204 ART OF ELOCUTION, 

Actor's study. It is not my design to form a thea- 
trical style; but it is desirable that the student 
shf>i;lrl make himself master of certain tones and 
variations of expression, a judicious use of which 
will add much to the beauty and power of his decla- 
mation, and is. in fact, absolutely necessary to be 
attained before he can aspire to the rugn character 
of a perfect Orator. 



m 



AN EXERCISE FOR INTONATION. 



PKOSPERO'S INVOCATION. — Shakspeare. 

Begin in a deep tone, and gather force and volume 
in progressing. 

Largo— maestoso. *=CT -<C- 

33 Ye Elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves ; 
And ye that on the sands with printless foot, 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him 
When he comes back; you demi- puppets, that 
By moonshine do the green, sour ringlets make, 
Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you whose pastime 
Is to make midnight mushrooms ; that rejoica 
To hear the solemn curfew : by whose aid 
(Weak masters though ye be) I have bedimm'd 
The noon-tide sun, — call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
And 'twixt the green sea and the azure vault 

ff. staccato./. T T T 

Set roaring war; to the dread rattling thunder 

fz. 

Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 



206 ART OF ilLjCUTION. 

T sos.f. ^=z 
"With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory 

Have I made shake, and by the spurs 

ff. <rr _ '•' 

Pluck'd up the pine and cedar : graves at my command 

Have wak'd their sleepers • op'd and let them forth.* 1 

By -j;i/i>o patent ait, 

Transition to middle pitch and a softer tone : — 

ffil But this rough magic 

I here abjure ; and when I have requir'd 
Some heavenly music (which even now I d^) 
To work mine end upon their senses, that 
This airy charm is for, M - I'll break my staff, 
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, 

23 And deeper than did ever plummet sound, 
I'll drown my book. 



THE DEATH OF SAMSOK — Milton. 

This being narrative, does not admit of so solemn 
a tone as the preceding : — 

A ndante—moderato. 

iH The building was a spacious theatre, 

Half-round, on two main pillars vaulted high, 
With seats where all the lords, and each degree 
Of sort, might sit in order to behold. 
The other side was open, where the throng 



PRACTICE. — INTONATION. 207 

On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand. 

m. f. 

The feast and noise grew high ; and sacrifice 
Had fill'd their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and wine, 
When to their sports they turn'd. Immediately 
Was Samson as a public servant brought, 
In their state livery clad : before him pipes 
f And timbrels, on each side went armed guards, 
Both horse and foot ; before him and behind, 
Archers and slingers, cataphracts and spears. 
At sight of him, the people with a shout, 
Rifted the air, clamouring their God with praise, 

.Who had rc.ide their dreadful enemy their thrall, 

v- 

He patient, but undaunted, where they led him, 

Caine to the place ; and what was set before him, 

Which without help of eye might be assay'd, 

To heave, pull, draw, or break, he still perform'd, 

leg. <C 

All with incredible, stupendous force ; 

None daring to appear antagonist. 

At length, for intermission's sake, they led him 

Between the pillars ; he his guide requested, 

As over-tir'cl, to let him lean awhile 

With both his arms on those two massy pillars, 

That to the arched roof gave nmin support. 

He, unsuspicious, led him ; which, when Samson 

p. 
Felt in his arms, with head awhile inclin'd, 



208 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

And eyes fast-fix'd, he stood, as one who prayed, 

ritard. 

Or some great matter in his mind revolv'd : | 

p?~esto. f- 

At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud : 

mod. 

" Hitherto, lords, what your commands impost 
I have perform'd, as reason was, obeying, 
Not without wonder or delight beheld : 
Now, of my own accord, such other trial 
I mean to show you of my strength, yet greater, 
As with amaze shall strike all who behold." 

mod. 

This utter'd, straining all his nerves, he bow'd : 
53 As with the force of winds and waters pent, 

When mountains tremble, those two massy pmars 

fa. 
With horrible convulsion to and fro 

stacc. T T T T 

He tugg'd, he shook, till down they came,'"' 1 - and drew 
The whole roof after them with burst of thunder, 
Upon th g heads of all who sat beneath ; 
Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests, 
Their choice nobility and flower, 



Met from all parts, to solemnise this feast. ( 

maestoso. 

Samson with these immix'd, inevitably 
Pull'd down the same destruction on liimseU I 



PKACTICE. RHYTHMICAL BEADING. 209 

AN EXERCISE IN RHYTHMICAL 
READING. 

The object of the following exercise is practically to 
school the ear of the pupil to a just rhythmical pulsation of 
voice in the reading of verse : for that purpose the accents are 
marked as a guide to the pupil for pulsation and remission of 
voice ; he must also fill up the rhychrn with proper rests. 

BOADICEA.— Cowper. 



* / * s 

When the British warrior-quee:o< 

/ / / 

Bleeding from the Roman rods, 

Sought, with an indignant mien* 



Counsel of her country's gods, 



• / / / 

Sage, beneath a spreading oak, 

> / / • 

. Sat the Druid, hoary chief, 

/ / / / 

Ev'ry burning word he spoke, 

/ / / / 

Pull of rage, and full of grief. 



/ / / 

" Princess, if our aged eyes 

/ / / 

Weep upon thy matchless UTiXgs, 
/ / / / 

Tis because resentment ties 

/ / / 

All the terrors of our tongues. 



** Rome shall perish! write iimt word 

In the blood that she has spilt ; 
P 



210 ART OF ELOCUTION. 



Perish, hopeless and abkoritxf, 

/ / / 

Deep in ruin, as in guilt ! 



" Rome, for empire far renown'd, 

Tramples on a thousand gt«&&\j 

/ / / / 

Soon her pride shall kiss the ground— 

/ / / 

Hark! the Gaul is at her gates 1 



/■'-.•'_./ / 

" Other Romans shall arise, • 

Heedless of a soldier s name ; 

/ ;> f / 

Sounds, not arms, shall win tfce prize, 

/ / / 

Harmony the path to fame ! 



u Then, the progeny that springs 

From the forests of our land, 

/ . / / / 

Arm'd with thunder, clad with vunga^ 
/ / / *. 

Shall a wider world command. 



/ / / s 

" Regions Caesar never knew, 

/ / / 

Thy posterity shall sway % 

/ / / y 

Where his eagles never new 

/ / / 

None invincible as they!" 

/ / / / 

Such the bard's prophetic words, 

/ / f 

Pregnant with celestial fir% 

Bending as he swept the chords 
/ / / 

Of his sweet, but awful lyre. 



PRACTICE, — - RHYTHMICAL READING. 211 



/ / / / 

She with all a monarch's pride, 
/ / / 

Felt them in her bosom glow ; 

/ / / / 

Bush'd to battle, fought, and died, 
/ / / 

Dying, hurled them on the foe I 



/ / / 

u Ruffians ! pitiless as proud, 

/ / / /■ 

Heav'n awards the vengeance due $ 

/'."'..'/ / 

Empire is on us bestowed, 

/ / / / 

Shame and ruin wait for you ! 



THE CLIME OF THE EAST.— Byron. 



Know ye the. land where the cypress and myrtle 

/ / ' , . ,/ 

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, 

/ / / / 

Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle 

/ / / / 

Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime ? 

/ ' / / 

Know ye the land of the cedar and vine 

/ / / s 

Where the flowers ever blossom, the leaves ever shine ; 

/ / / / 

Where the light wings of zephyr, oppress'd with perfume, 

Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul* in her bloom! 

Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, 

/ / / / 

And the voice of the nightingale never is mute ; 

/ / / / 

Where the tints of the earth and the hues of the sky, 



* Gul, the rose, 
P 2 



212 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

In colour though varied, in beauty may vie, 
/ / / / 

And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye ; 

/ / / / 

Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, 

And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? 

Tis the clime of the East, — 'tis the land of the sun! 

/ / / / 

Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done ? 

/ / / / 

Oh ! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell, 

Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they telL 

The exercise in Intonation serves also for an exercise in 
Blank Verse ; and the next Exercise contains same other va- 
rieties of metrical arrangement. 



EXERCISE IN EXPRESSION. 

I have chosen the following well-known and beautiful ode, 
as the vehicle of instruction, and as a particular Exercise in 
Expression, although quite familiar to the reader, as a compo- 
sition,— because it affords great scope for transition of pitch, 
variation of force, and change of time, in accordance with the 
varied action and quality of the personification of each 
individual passion. It is in these transitions and variations 
that the main beauty of the ode lies ; and on the marking of 
them distinctly, depends the effect in delivery. 

The ode is also a good practice in rhythmical reading, 
from the variety as well as polish of the versification. 

The pupil will carefully note the short analysis of the ex- 
pression of each passion, and the marginal directions as to 
tone and time due to each particular passage. 



PRACTICE. — EXPRESSION. 



213 



THE PASSIONS — AN ODE — Colliks, 

INTRODUCTION OR PRELUDE. 



DIRECTIONS. 

Begin calmly, 
smoothly, and in 
modei ate time, and 
middle pitch. 



When Music, heavenly maid, was young 
Ere yet in early Greece she sung, 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Throng'd around har magic cell; 



Thetone and time (•/; S p. ttT ff.^- 



must here change, 
and be varied to ex- 
press the different 
emotions described. 



% 



Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 

m.f. HT 

Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting, 

By turns they felt the glowing mind, 

Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined; 

=* ' fz. 

Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, 

confuoco. f. «=C 

Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd, 

This must be (presto, 

rapid, to express j From the supporting myrtles round, 

the suddenness ofi - ° J 

I They seized her instruments of sound, 

Inordinary time. ("*>• _ ', *!,-,*, 

i And, as they oft had heard apart, 

1 dolce. 

I Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 

wildly fz^ 

Each, — for madness rul'd the hour — 

tit mod. 

Would prove his own expressive power. 



1. Fear. 

Pear deprives the voice of its power ; the tone 
becomes thin and feeble, and the utterance (when 

P 3 



214 ART OF ELOCUTION* 

the passion is highly-wrought) tremulous, indistinct, 
aiid broken. 



Slowly, and with f $£ 



"hesitation. 



1YI p. 

First Fear,*' 1 his hand,*" its skill to try, 
Amid the chords'" 1 - bewilder'd laid j 

presto. fz. p- ritard. 

And back recoil'd,— he knew not why, — 

legato p. 

E'en at the sound himself had made ! 



2. Anger. 

Anger is high in pitch, loud, and quick in the 
time of its utterance ; and the words do not flow, 
but burst out in sudden starts, indicative of the 
rashness of passion. 

This is distinct from the expression of dignified 
anger, just severity, and reproof, which is solemn 
and measured in its delivery, and low in pitch. 



Loudly and hur- T <3i 



riedly, with im 
petuous bursts of 
sound. 



► alio, con fuoco. /• -<I 

Next anger rush'd,* 1 - his eyes on fire, M 
In lightnings own'd his secret stings; 

ff. fz. staccato. T T 

In one rude clash ** 1 he struck the lyre, 

fz. presto. 

And swept with hurried hand the strings* 



3. Despair. 

Despair vents itself in a low, moaning tone ; till 
it reaches its wildest paroxysm, when it is cracked 
and shrieking. Both shades of expression are beau- 
tifully aiid distinctly individualised by the poet ia 
the descriptive verses. 



PRACTICE. 



■ EXPRESSION. 



214 



In a " low, sul- 
len tone ; " mo- 
notonous, with 
deep pitch. 



largo e maestoso. •*$ 

With woeful measures^ wan Despair — 

Low sullen sounds, his grief beguil'd ; 
A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 



M 



presto, f. & 



Contrast 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wildl 

4. Hope. 

The expression of Hope is in direct contrast with 
that of Despair; lively, animated, joyous ; in rather 
a high pitch of voice, but at the same time sweet 
and flowing. 



Mark the trans- fST „ 
itin,, from the pre- ™ aVo.conspinto. 
ceding passion by 
change of tone and 
time ; and, as the 
feeling prows, let 
the voice swell 
and increase in 
volume. 



But thou, 6 Hope, with eyes so fair, 
What was thy delighted measure ? 
Still it whisper' d promis'd pleasure, 



And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! 

legato. 

Still would her touch the strain prolong, 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
She called on Echo still ^ through all the song ; 
And where her sweetest theme she chose, 

dolce . 

A soft responsive voice'* 1 was heard at every 
close; 

con anima. 

And Hope enchanted, smiTd,** 1 and wav'd 
her golden hair ! 



5. Revenge. — 6. Pitt. 

The features of Revenge are of the same family 
P 4 



216 



ART OF ELOCUTION. 



as Anger ; but bolder, stronger, and more highly 
coloured. The tone must be fiercer, harsher, and 
more concentrated than mere Anger. Revenge, 
when most intense, speaks between the set teeth ; 
and utters its denunciations in a hoarse, guttural 
voice ; and with fitful bursts of passion. 

Pity, on the contrary, speaks in a low, soft, and 
gentle tone of voice; but full and flowing, as from 
the exuberance of a warm heart. 



The transition 
from the calm joy- 
ousness of Hope., 
to the fierce ex- 
ctement of Re- 
venue, must be 
marked by the 
assumption of a 
deeper and a louder 
tone, and an im- 
peluous utterance. 



Mark the change 
to the gentle and 
tender tone of Pity. 



presto. 

And longer had she sung — but, with a 
frown, 

Revenge*" impatient rose ; 

alio./. <: ffi 

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder 

down, 

/. •> 

And, with a withering look, 

The war- ^enouncing trumpet took ; 
®t < /. ffm < 

And blew a blast so loud and dread, 

M ritard. maestoso. sostenuto. 

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe, 

** vresto. staccato/. 

And ever and anon, he beat 

? T 

The doubling drum with furious heat ; 

39 ritard. largo maestoso. 

And though sometimes,***'- each dreary 

pause between, *" 1 - 

p. ^^ 

Rejected Pity, at his side, 

affo. legato, dol. 

Her soul-subduing voice applied, 



PRACTICE. — EXPRESSION. 



21"i 



Return to the 
rapid movement 
and fieri.?, utter- 
ance of lievenge. 



^i presto, f. 

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, 



staccato, ffi T T T .. T 

While each strained ball of sight" 

fz. 
bursting from his head ! 



seem'd 



7. Jealousy. 

Jealousy lias a changeful tone, varying as it yields 
to love or hate ) sometimes indulging in the tender- 
ness of affection, at others venting itself in all the 
harshness and bitterness of revenge. The poet has 
well distinguished these two different phases of the 
passion. 



Begin in a low f^ 
tone and slowly ; 



1 largo p. 



presto, m.f. 



ring accord- 1 Thy numbers,* 1 Jealousy,'"' to nought were 

to The .Uera- fix'd, ^ 



tion of feeling de- 
scribed. 



33 maestoso. 

Sad proof of thy distressful state*" 1 - 

v rcstom.f. 

Of differing themes,^ the veering song was 
mix'd,*"'" 

JjJl p. ritard affo. dolce. f. K 

And now it courted Love, * 1 - now 
raving , " 1 - called on Hate f 



8. Melancholy. 



The voice of Melancholy is low in tone, soft, 
mellow, and slow in utterance. 



218 



ART OF ELOCUTION. 



Mark the gen- f 
iienes> of ho pas- 
sion by a smooth, 
flowing delivery, 
and rather deep 
tone, 



and movement. 



Change back to 
deep tO"e, and 
slow, flowing ut- 
terance 



35 lor go p. 

With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspirM, 
Pale Melancholy ^ sat retir'd" 1 - 
And from her wild, sequester'd seat, 

M 

In notes by distance made more sweet, 
.Pour'd through the mellow horn** her 
pensive soul : 

zem.f. 

And dashing soft from rocks around, 



A lighter tone r m 

a* alio, dolce m . f. 



Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ; 

20 maestoso. -<Z~. 

Through glades and glooms the mingled 
measure stole, 

Or o'er some haunted stream with fond 
delay M - 

Round^ a holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace and lowly musing, 

p. <=c pp. r>- 

In hollow murmurs* 1 died away. 



9. Cheerfulness. 

Cheerfulness — which is the direct contrast of the 
last passion — speaks in a high pitch, briskly and 
" trippingly on the tongue." The expression is of 
the same order (bat less active or passionate ) as — 

10. Joy ; 
whose tone is richer and fuller, and utterance still 



PRACTICE. — EXPRESSION. £19 

more lively and animated. Under the influence of 
joy, the words bound and gush from the lips, and 
the delivery becomes excited and enthusiastic. 

The distinction between these two affections of 
mind, is, that Cheerfulness is a state or enduring 
condition of the mind, and therefore has a certain 
repose of expression ; while Joy is an active emotion 
or passion, temporarily exciting and agitating the 
mind, and accordingly its expression is of a higher 
character, and must be more powerfully deline- 
ated. 

Joy usually subsides into the happy tranquillity 
of cheerfulness ; unless it be dashed by grief, in 
which case it sometimes changes into the darkest 
despair. 

In the present instance the passion receives ad- 
ditional force and impulse from its union with 

11. Love, — and 12. Mirth; 

the expression proper to which,— forming, as does 
the combination of Love, Joy, and Mirth, the most 
exquisite of all earthly felicity, — that is, the perfect 
enjoyment of happy love,—- must be of the most 
animated, spiritual, and enthusiastic kind : it must 
be all soul I 



Indicate the trans- r @* 
ition from Me Ian- **.' 
eholy to cheerful- 
ness, by a higher 
pitch and a. brisker 
utterance. 



alio. m. f. 

But oh ! how alter'd wag; its sprightlier 
tone,*" 1 - 

When Cheerfulness, a n|mph of health- 
iest hue, 



220 



Express the brisk- 
ness of the action 
of Sport and Ex- 
ercise by a quicker 
time and a stronger 
utterance. 

Heighten the ex- 
pression of Cheer- 
fulness to a fuller 
and richer tone, 
and even more 
lively and enthu- 
siastic delivery, in- 
creasing, as the 
descriptive verses 
glow, and the pic- 
ture is heightened 
in colouring and 
effect by th*- intro- 
duction of Love 
and Mirth, whose 
appearance on the 
S'-ene must be 
marked by still 
greater expression 
of tone. 



ART OF ELOCUTION. 

f Her br >w across her shoulder flung, 

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew^- 

Blew an inspiring air that dale and 
thicket rung :^- 

The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad 
known. 

The oak-crowned sisters and their chaste- 
eyed Queen, 

Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, 

Peeping from forth their allies green ;**- 

'Brown Exercise rejoie'd to hear, 

presto./. T T 

And Sport leap'd up *? and seiz'd his 



beechen spear, | 

alio— con anima—dolce. 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trials- 
He, with viny crown advancing, 
First to the lively pipe his hand address'd,^- 

con spiritof. 

But soon he saw the brisk, awak'ning viol, 

/■ ■ 

Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the 

best, 

legato. 

They would have thought, who heard the 
strain, 

They saw in Tcmpe's vale her native 
maids, 

Amidst the festal-sounding shades, 

To some unwearied minstrel dancing,* 1 - 



PRACTICE.— EXPRESSION. 



prrsfo. f. 

While as his flying lingers kiss'd the strings, 

dolce. 

Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic 
round ;'- 

Loose were her tresses seen, her zone urfc- 

bound, *■""'- 

confuoco. 

And he, amidst his frolic play 

As if he would the charming air repay, 

Shook thousand odours^ from his dewv 

wings ! 



Energetic Expression. —Threatening. 

[See Anger, Revenge.] 



HENRY V. BEFOEE THE GATES OEHARELEUR.- 

Shaksfeaiie. 

How yet resolves the Governor of the town? — 
This is the latest parle we will admit ; 
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves, 
Or like to men, proud of destruction, 
Defy us to the worst ! for, as I am a soldier, 
(A name that in my thoughts becomes me best); 
If I begin the battery once again, 
I will not leave the half-achiev'd Harfleur 
Till in her ashes she lie buried! 
The gates of merey shall be all shut up; 
And the flush'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, 
In liberty of bloody hand shall range, 
Mowing like grass 
Your fresh, fair virgins, and your flow'ring infants! 



222 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

Therefore, ye men of Harfleur. 

Take pity of your town, and of your people, 

Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ! 

If not, why in a moment look to see 

The blind and bloody soldier, with foul hand, 

Defile the locks of your shrill- shrieking daughters : 

Your fathers taken by the silver beards, 

And their most reverend heads dashed to the wails! 

Your naked infants spitted upon pikes : 

Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused 

Do break the clouds ; — as did the wives of Jewry 

At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughterman ! 

How say you? will you yield, and this avoid ? 



THE DYING GLADIATOK Byron. 

This concluding extract from Childe Harold, 
affords an opportunity, in a short space, for great 
variety and quick transition of tone, in accordance 
with the change of Expression from Pity to Indig- 
nation mounting to Revenge. The pupil will find 
the key to the correct expression of these changing 
feelings in the remarks on Collins's Ode to the 
Passions,— which I design as a key to Expression 
in general. 

In the present instance, I have also marked the 
pauses which are necessary to be observed ; they 
add much to the effect of the passage. 

Commence in a deep tone and slowly. 

33 adagio p. 

I see before me** 1 the Gladiator lie: $ 

p. <c 
He leans upon his hand,* 1 - his manly brow 



PRACTICE. — EXPRESSION. 223 

/. 
Consents to death,'* 1 but conquers agony, * 1 - 

p- 
And his droop'd head*" 1 sinks* 1 gradually"* 1 low,* 1 — 

ritard. 

And through his side** 1 the last drops,* 1 ebbing slow*" 1 

From the red gash,** 1 - fall heavy* 1 one by one,* 1 - 

Like the first of a thunder shower; and now** 1 

The arena swims around him;** 1 - he is gone,* 1 - 

Ere ceas'd the inhuman shout* 1 which haii'd the wretch 
who won. 



andante. 

He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes* 1 

affo. dol. 

Were with his heart,* 1 and that was far away j* 1 

He reck'd not of the life he lost, or prize, * 1 - 

p- 
But* 1 where his rude hut by the Danube lay,* 1 

There were his young barbarians* 1 all at play,* 1 - 

affo. p. con. an. -=ZZ f. 

There was their Dacian mother — he their sire* 1 

ff. fz. 

Butcher'd* 1 to make a Roman holiday ! I 

lepato p. presto f. 

Ail this rush'd with his blood . Shall he expire,* 1 

£• 

And unaveng'd?* 1 Arise! ye Goths! and glut your ire! 



SKETCH 



OF A 



SYSTEM OF GESTURE; 

"WITH 

A FEW PRACTICAL HINTS 

FOR THE 

PULPIT, THE BAE, AND THE STAGE. 



227 



GESTURE, AND VOCAL GYMNASTICS. 

I know of no means of teaching Gesture by 
written instructions ; nor do I think that great 
assistance can be gathered from plates of figures 
representing different actions and attitudes. Aus- 
tin's Chironomia was, I believe, the first work that 
attempted this, and the book is not without ad- 
vantage to a professor, or to one who has made 
some progress, by practice under good tuition, in 
giving force to an oration by certain well-regulated 
and appropriate gestures, or in the expression of 
the passions by the action of the face and the 
attitude of the body. Austin has been followed by 
a crowd of copyists, who have adopted his plates 
and figures, but whose written instructions appear 
to me to tend rather to give the pupil a stiff and 
constrained style of gesticulation, than to invest him 
with that easy and graceful action, and powerful 
but unexaggerated attitude, which alone are plea- 
sing and effective in the orator or the actor. 

The first point to be aimed at, as the foundation 
of a good style of gesture, is a natural and easy 
carriage of the body, — erect, not stiff, — but firm, 
manly, and free. This is a thing, unfortunately, 
too much neglected in education generally: the 
q 2 



228 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

drill-sergeant will bo found of use in helping us' to 
this ; and the dancing -master s assistance is also of 
service, Not that we are to aim at the stiff and 
measured professional step of the soldier, or the 
mincing gait of a maitre-de-danse \ we must avoid 
the extreme of each ; a manly and graceful carriage 
lies between the two. 

An excellent exercise, both for voice and health, 
— one that will both improve the strength of the 
lungs and the carriage of the body, is to walk and 
speak aloud at the same time; a task which at 
first will appear difficult and tiresome, but by 
practice, — carefully observing the rules which I 
have laid down for pause and inspiration, to supply 
expended breath, — will become easy ; and I answer 
for it, that the voice will be by this means much 
increased in strength, the carriage of the body 
improved, and the health of the lungs greatly pro- 
moted. I recommend any person whose profession 
calls on him to speak loud and long, — either in the 
Pulpit, the Senate, at the Bar, or in the Lecture- 
Room, — to make frequent trial of this exercise. 
Let him take Brutus's speech, for example, par- 
ticularly observing the pauses as I have marked 
them ; let him commence, the first day, by walking 
slowly while he recites aloud with the proper inflec- 
tions, &c, but not with too great an ejfort of voice, 
as much of the speech as is so marked (p. 165.) 
Let him continue this exercise daily, gradually 
increasing in exertion of voice, and rapidity of 
walk, and I will undertak e that, in a very short 



GESTURE AND VOCAL GYMNASTICS. 229 

time (provided there be no disease in his lungs) he 
shall be able not only to execute the whole of that 
speech while walking in the open air, but that he 
shall be able at length to speak it clearly, distinctly y 
and forcibly, while running gently up-hill. 

This exercise will also, infallibly, tend to the 
improvement of his general carriage ; for, the 
effort of speaking whilst walking will compel him, 
instinctively, to hold his body straight and to ex- 
pand his chest, for the more easy delivery of his 
voice, which cannot have fair play with a stooping 
body or rounded shoulders. To speak well, easily 
and powerfully, the body must be erect, the chest 
expanded, the legs firmly set under the hips, to 
support the body, and form a good fulcrum for the 
efforts of the voice. 

And this is the first step towards Gesture. 

The next is to acquire an easy and free use of 
the arms; and a pliancy of wrist. In this, the 
fencing-master is the best assistant. His practice 
will correct the prevailing awkwardness of gesture 
which consists in keeping the elbows glued (if I 
may say so) to the side ; and working the arm in 
a continued angular movement ; most unsightly, 
and utterly irreconcileable with power or grace of 
action. 

Next, let the speaker always bear in mind, that 
the object of gesture is to assist or enforce the 
w r ords which it accompanies. Gesture is. in fact, 
the ally of speech. Its province is to second the 
vcice. "Action and utterance" go together : Shak- 

Q 3 



230 ART OF ELOCUTION. 

speare has so placed them*; and the action must 
be akin to the utterance ; the gesture must be rela- 
tive to the words. Gesture, therefore, must not be 
vague, unmeaning, motionless ; or it will be a mere 
"sawing of the air." It must have purport and 
force ; it must be, as it were, an animated comment 
on the text which it accompanies: and, as Dr. 
Whately justly observes, the action should rather 
precede the sentiment, or idea that it is intended to 
enforce. 

Redundancy of gesture, either for the Pulpit or 
the Bar, in the course of any public address, or even 
on the stage, should be avoided. It is far better to 
err on the side of self-restraint than to sin on that 
of excess. A continual working of the arms and 
hands, — still more, a jerking of the head and restless 
working of the body, — is not only offensive to the 
eye of good taste, but proves also that the offender 
is not really in earnest, but is endeavouring to 
appear so. There is dignity in repose. Intensity, 
not violence, both of voice and action, marks 
earnestness and true passion: neither shouting nor 
gesticulation are the characteristics of deep feeling 
or sincere conviction. 

For the Pulpit, the style of gesture should be 
measured, dignified, and impressive : all tendency 
to violence should be carefully subdued, and a 
severe grace, devoid of pedantry or affectation, 

* " Action and utterance, and the power of speech 
To stir men's blood." 



GESTURE AND VOCAL GYMNASTICS. 231 

should be cultivated. All approach to theatrical 
effect is to be deeply reprobated, as an evidence 
that the speaker is more filled with himself than his 
subject, — more studious of personal display, than of 
the improvement and spiritual advantage of his 
hearers. A well-maintained position of the body, 
erect but not stiff, — an easy and graceful motion 
of the arm, where gesture is required, either in a 
horizontal or elevated position, as the idea to 
be expressed or the matter to be enforced may 
be more or less exalted ; with the hand in the na- 
tural or supine form for description, representation 
and appeal, or both hands for exhortation and 
earnest entreaty ; or with the index finger * mark- 
ing and emphasising argument or instruction, — will 
be found, in general, sufficient to give weight and 
force to the eloquence of the Pulpit and the Bar. 

The following hints may be of some service in 
guiding the young speaker to a correct and pleasing 
system of action ; at the same time, I must repeat, 
it is next to impossible to teach gesture by written 
instructions : three practical lessons with a good 
and experienced professor will do more towards 
giving the pupil ease, grace, &rA force of action, 
than all tiie books and plates in the world. My 
own pupils have found some aid from the fol- 
io wing-~~ 

* See Table of Gesture, p. 234. 



Q * 



232 ART OF ELOCUTION. 



gjfeettfl of a g^stcm of CHesture. 

ALL GESTURE is— 

Active (or passionate) — i. e. dictated by, and express- 
ing the action, or affection of the speaker 's mind; cr, — 

Demonstrative (or descriptive) — of some object, 
action, or scene spoken of or referred to. 

GESTURE is made up of— 

1. Position of the Body, which must be properly ba- 

lanced and firmly fixed, whether advanced (adv.) or 
retired (vet.) — that is, at rest 

2. The form of the Hand, which defines the nature of 

the gesture. 

3. The position or direction of the Arm ; and, — 

4. The motion of the Arm— which defines the extent and 

limit of the gesture. 

5. The stroke or beat from the Wrist — which (being 

made on the emphatic word or expression, or the one 
to which the gesture, if descriptive, refers) finishes 
and perfects the action. 



EXPRESSION OF FACE. 

Nor should the face and eye be silent, or idle: they must 
assist the gesture and movement of body, arm, hand, by a cor- 
responding expression, — whether of inquiry or denial, — calm- 
ness or excitement, — sorrow, joy, triumph, scorn, defiance, pity, 
anger, &c. It is the harmonious combination and expression 
of the whole man that make powerful and graceful gesture. 



A SYSTEM OF GESTURE. 233 

Attitude is the extravagance or exaggeration of gesture, 
under the most powerful excitement of passion ; its study and 
practice belong to the Actor, and are therefore not introduced 
here.* 



* Attitude, and strong expression of face and feature, 
belong to the stage ; but even there, be it remembered, " to 
use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and whirl- 
wind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance 
that shall give it smoothness." The young aspirant for 
dramatic honours may safely believe that Shakspeare is right, 
and will be proved so in the end ; and, believing this, he will 
scorn to rant, to roar, to start and attitudinise, in order to gain 
applause from the ignorant multitude, or praise from the as 
ignorant critic : but, careful " not to outstep the modesty of 
nature," he will uphold the dignity of his art and his own 
self-respect ; avoid fustian and exaggeration, vulgarisms and 
affectation, distorted features and "aggravated voice;" and 
calmly, patiently, and conscientiously pursue the true "pur- 
pose of playing," to present to man a worthy picture of him- 
self, " to show virtue her own image, scorn its cwn feature, 
and the very age and body of the time its form and pres- 
save." 



TABLE OF GESTURE. 



SIGN. FORM OF THE HAND. 



cL 



L. 

B. 

els. 



Natural. — (the form in which 
the hand is held out to shake 
hands) 



Prone — the reverse of the 
natural hand 



Supine— the natural hand in 
tension 



USE, OR EXPRESSION. 



Closed, or clenched.. 



Index finger, marking or 
pointing (the other nYgers 
being closed) 

Left hand 



Both hands. 
C/aspedf 



l^ed in addressing, appealing 
to, exhorting, entreating, repre- 
senting. 

( Forbidding, rejecting, denying, 
\ abjuring, commanding, crusn- 
( ing, destroying. 
( This form is a stronger exprcs- 
"'"" ■){ the natural hand, for 
{jorce. 

{Used only in strong vassion: or 
as a descriptive gesture of ex- 
traordinary Jorce. 
{Advising, arguing, instructing, 
impressing, warning, pointing, 
marking, repioving. 
Used occasionally for variety, 
( Used in addressing large assem- 
< blies, or in violent feeling ; or 
( extended action (descriptive.) 
in pruyfi; 



POSITION OF THE 

e. elevated. o. oblique. 

/. forwards. h. horizontal. 

d. downwards. v. vertical. 

u. upwards. x. extended. 



ABM. 

%. zenith. 
fo. folded. 
cr. crossed. 
k. akimbo. 



Note— The position of the arm is regulated accordins to the situation 
(above or below the speaker) of tho=e addressed, — or elevation or depres- 
sion of the jeeling expressed, or object described. 



MOTION OF THE ARM. 



a. ascending. 
d. descending. 

b. beating. 

c. circle — 
"crowning.* 



fl. flourish — 

" triumph.* 
tr. trembling. 
sp. spreading. 
ou. outwards. 



in. inwards. 
w. waving. 
gr. grasping. 
st. striking. 



Note The motion of the arm, by its direction and rapidity, expresses 

the triumph, or depression, or energy of the orator's feelings, or the posi- 
tion of the object described. 



REMARKS. 

The initial letters enable the student or speaker to mark, in a written 
speech, any gestures he may think appropriate : thus, B. n. h.f. would 
signify, Both hands natural, horizontal, forwards, — the proper gesture 
for such words as, — 

" Romans, countrymen, and lovers! " 

B. n. f. e. Both hands natural, forwards, elevated- -is the gesture of 

SUPPLICATION." 



APPENDIX 



CONTAINING A 

FULL COURSE OF PRACTICE 

IN 

PROSE -READING, 

AND IN 

ORATORICAL, POETICAL, AND DRAMATIC 

DECLAMATION; 

AND FOKMING A COMPLETE 

SPEAKER, 
FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS. 



APPENDIX. 



PEOSE -BEADING, 



DEATH AND CHARACTER OF QUEEN 
ELIZABETH. — Hume, 

Some incidents happened which revived her tender- 
ness for Essex, and filled her with the deepest 
sorrow for the consent which she had unwarily 
given for his execution. 

The Earl of Essex, after his return from the 
fortunate expedition against Cadiz, observing the 
increase of the Queen's fond attachment towards 
him, took occasion to regret that the necessity of 
her service required him often to be absent from 
her person, and exposed him to all those ill offices 
which his enemies, more assiduous in their atten- 
tions, could employ against him. She was moved 
with this tender jealousy ; and, making him the 
present of a ring, desired him to keep that pledge 
of her affection, and assured him, in whatever dis- 



238 APPENDIX, 

grace he should fall, whatever prejudices she might 
be induced to entertain against him, yet, if he sent 
her that ring, she would immediately, upon sight of 
it, recall her former tenderness^ would afford him 
a patient hearing, and would lend a favourable ear 
to his apology. Essex, notwithstanding all his 
misfortunes, reserved this precious gift to the last 
extremity ; but, after his trial and condemnation, 
lie resolved to try the experiment, and he commit- 
ted the ring to the Countess of Nottingham, whom 
he desired to deliver it to the Queen. The countess 
was prevailed on by her husband, the mortal enemy 
of Essex, not to execute the commission ; and Eliza- 
beth, who still expected that her favourite would 
make this last appeal to her tenderness, and who 
ascribed the neglect of it to his invincible obstinacy, 
was, after much delay and many internal combats, 
pushed by resentment and policy to sign the warrant 
for his execution. 

The Countess of Nottingham, falling into sick- 
ness, and affected with the near approach of death, 
was seized with remorse for ktr conduct ; and, 
having obtained a visit from the Queen, she craved 
her pardon and revealed to her the fatal secret. 
The Queen, astonished with this incident, burst 
into a furious passion : she shook the dying coun- 
tess in her bed; wil ^rjw f ] ~l\\ Jser, that God might 
pardon her, but she never could, she broke from 
her, and thenceforth resigned herself over to the 
deepest and most incurable melancholy. She re- 
jected all consolation ; she even refused food and 
sustenance; and, throwing herself on the floor, 



PROSE-READING, 239 

she remained sullen and immoveable, feeding her 
thoughts on her afflictions, and declaring life and 
existence an insufferable burden to her. Few 
words she uttered ; and they were all expressive of 
some inward grief which she cared not to reveal: 
but sighs and groans were the chief vent which she 
gave to her despondency, and which, though they 
discovered her sorrows, were never able to ease or 
assuage them. Ten days and nights she lay upon 
the carpet, leaning upon cushions which her maids 
brought her ; and her physicians could not per- 
suade her to allow herself to be put to bed, still 
less to make trial of any remedies which they pre- 
scribed to her. Her anxious mind at last had so 
long preyed on her frail body, that her end was 
visibly approaching ; and the Council, being as- 
sembled, sent the keeper, admiral, and secretary to 
know her will with regard to her successor. She 
answered with a faint voice, that as she had held a 
regal sceptre, she desired no other than a royal 
successor. Cecil requesting her to explain herself 
more particularly, she subjoined that she would 
have a king to succeed her ; and who should that 
be but her nearest kinsman, the King of Scots? 
Being then advised by the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury to fix her thoughts upon God, she replied that 
she did so, nor did her mind in the least wander 
from Him. Her voice soon after left her; her 
senses failed ; she fell into a lethargic slumber, 
which continued some hours, and she expired 
gently, without struggle or convulsion, in the se» 
ventieth year of her age and forty-fifth of her reign. 



240 APPENDIX. 

So dark a cloud overcast the evening of that day, 
which had shone out with a mighty lustre in the 
eyes of all Europe. There are few great person- 
ages in history who have been more exposed to the 
calumnies of enemies, and the adulation of friends, 
than Queen Elizabeth ; and yet there is scarcely 
any whose reputation has been more certainly 
determined by the unanimous consent of posterity. 
The unusual length of her administration, and the 
strong features of her character, were able to over- 
come all prejudices ; and, obliging her detractors to 
abate much of their invectives, and her admirers 
somewhat of their panegyrics, have at last, in 
spite of political factions, and, what is more, of 
religious animosities, produced a uniform judgment 
with regard to her conduct. Pier vigour, her con- 
stancy, her magnanimity, her penetration, vigilance, 
and address, are allowed to merit the highest 
praises, and appear not to have been surpassed by 
any person that ever filled a throne : a conduct 
less rigorous, more sincere, more indulgent to her 
people would have been requisite to form a perfect 
character. By the force of her mind she controlled 
all her more active and stronger qualities, and pre- 
vented them from running into excess : her heroism 
was exempt from temerity, her frugality from 
avarice, her friendship from partiality, her active 
temper from turbulency and a vain ambition : she 
guarded not herself with equal care or equal success 
from lesser infirmities ; the rivalship of beauty, the 
desire of admiration, the jealousy of love, and the 
sallies of anger. 



PROSE -KEADING. 241 

Her singular talents for government were founded 
equally on her temper and on her capacity. En- 
dowed with a great command over herself, she soon 
obtained an uncontrolled ascendant overjier people; 
and, while she merited all their esteem by her real 
virtues, she also engaged their affections by her pre- 
tended ones. Few sovereigns of England succeeded 
to the throne in more difficult circumstances ; and 
none ever conducted the government with such uni- 
form success and felicity. Though unacquainted 
with the practice of toleration — the true secret for 
managing religious factions — she preserved her 
people, by her superior prudence, from those confu- 
sions in which theological controversy had involved 
all the neighbouring nations ; and though her ene- 
mies were the most powerful princes of Europe, the 
most active, the most enterprising, the least scru- 
pulous, she was able by her vigour to make deep 
impressions on their states; her own greatness 
meanwhile remained untouched and unimpaired. 

The w r ise ministers and brave warriors who flou- 
rished under her reign share the praise of her 
success ; but, instead of lessening the applause due 
to her, they make great addition to it. They owed, 
all of them, their advancement to her choice ; they 
were supported by her constancy, and with all their 
abilities they were never able to acquire any undue 
ascendant over her. In her family, in her court, 
in her kingdom, she remained equally mistress ; the 
force of the tender passions was great over her, but 
the force of her mind was still superior ; and the 
combat which her victory visibly cost her, serves 

R 



242 APPENDIX. 

only to display the firmness of her resolution, and 
the loftiness of her ambitious sentiments. 

The fame of this princess, though it has sur- 
mounted the prejudices both of faction and bigotry, 
yet lies still exposed to another prejudice which is 
more durable because more natural, and which, ac- 
cording to the different views in which we survey 
her, is capable of exalting beyond measure, or di- 
minishing the lustre of her character. This preju- 
dice is founded on the consideration of her sex. 
When we contemplate her as a woman, we are apt 
to be struck with the highest admiration of her 
great qualities and extensive capacity ; but we are 
also apt to require some more softness of disposition, 
some greater lenity of temper," some of those ami- 
able weaknesses by which her sex is distinguished. 
But the true method of estimating her merit is to 
lay aside all these considerations, and consider her 
merely as a rational being placed in authority, and 
entrusted with the government of mankind. We 
may find it difficult to reconcile our fancy to her 
as a wife or a mistress; but her qualities as a 
sovereign, though with some considerable excep- 
tions, are the object of undisputed applause and 
approbation 



CHARACTER OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.— 
Robertson. 

To all the charms of beauty and the utmost ele- 
gance of external form, she added those accomplish- 



PROSE-READING. 243 

ments which render their impression irresistible* 
Polite, affable, insinuating, sprightly, and capable 
of speaking and of writing with equal ease and 
dignity. Sudden, however, and violent in all her 
attachments, because her heart was warm and 
unsuspicious. Impatient of contradiction, because 
she had been accustomed from her infancy to be 
treated as a queen. No stranger, on some occasions, 
to dissimulation, which, in that perfidious court 
where she received her education, was reckoned 
among the necessary arts of government. Not 
insensible to flattery, or unconscious of that plea- 
sure with which almost every woman beholds the 
influence of her own beauty. Formed with the 
qualities that we love, not with the talents that we 
admire, she was an agreeable woman rather than 
an illustrious queen. The vivacity of her spirit 
not sufficiently tempered with sound judgment, and 
the warmth of her heart, which was not always 
under the restraint of discretion, betrayed her both 
into errors and into crimes. To say that she was 
always unfortunate, will not account for that long 
and almost uninterrupted succession of calamities 
that befel her; we must likewise add that she 
was often imprudent. Her passion for Darnley 
was rash, youthful and excessive : and though the 
sudden transition to the opposite. extreme was the 
natural effect of her ill-requitted love, and of his 
ingratitude, insolence and brutality, yet neither 
these, nor Bothwell's artful address and important 
services, can justify her attachment to that noble- 
man. Even the manners of the age, licentious as 
r 2 



244 APPENDIX, 

they were, are no apology for this unhappy passion: 
nor can they induce us to look on that tragical and 
infamous scene which followed upon it, with less 
abhorrence. Humanity will draw a veil over this 
part of her character which it cannot approve, and 
may perhaps prompt some to impute her actions to 
her situation, more than to her disposition, and to 
lament the unhappiness of the former, rather than 
accuse the perverseness of the latter. Mary's suf- 
ferings exceed, both in degree and in duration, 
those tragical distresses which fancy has feigned to 
excite sorrow and commiseration ; and while we 
survey them, we are apt altogether to forget her 
frailties ; we think of her faults with less indigna- 
tion, and approve of our tears as if they were shed 
for a person who had attained much nearer to pure 
virtue. 

With regard to the queen's person, a circum- 
stance not to be omitted in writing the history of a 
female reign, all contemporary authors agree in 
ascribing to Mary the utmost beauty of countenance 
and elegance of shape of which the human form is 
capable. Her hair was black ; though, according 
to the fashion of that age, she frequently wore 
borrowed locks, and of different colours. Her eyes 
were a dark grey, her complexion was exquisitely 
fine, and her hands and arms remarkably delicate, 
both as regard shape and colour. Her stature was 
of a height that rose to the majestic* She danced, 
she walked, and rode with equal grace. Her taste 
for music was just ; and she both sang, and played 
upon the lute with uncommon skill. Towards tha 



PROSE-READING. 245 

end of her life she began to grow fat ; and her long 
confinement, and the coldness of the houses in 
which she had been imprisoned, brought on a 
rheumatism, which deprived her of the use of her 
limbs. 

" No man," says Brantome, " ever beheld her 
person without admiration and love, or will read 
her history without sorrow." 



MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF LOUIS XVI — 
Burke. 

It is now sixteen or seventeen years since T saw 
the Queen of France, then the Dauphiness, at 
Versailles ; and surely never lighted on this orb, 
which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delight- 
ful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, deco- 
rating and cheering the elevated sphere she just 
began to move in — glittering like the morning star, 
full of life, and splendour, and joy. Oh! what a 
revolution ! and what a heart must I have to con- 
template, without emotion, that elevation and that 
fall ! Little did I dream, when she added titles of ve- 
neration to that enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, 
that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp 
antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom ; 
little did I dream that I should have lived to see 
such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant 
men, in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers. 
I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped 

R 3 



2*18 APPENDIX. 

from their scabbards to avenge even a look that 
threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry 
is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and cal- 
culators has succeeded ; and the glory of Europe 
is extinguished for ever ! Never, never more shall 
we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, 
that proud submission, that dignified obedience, 
that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, 
even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted 
freedom. The unbought grace of life, the cheap 
defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment 
and heroic enterprise is gone! It is gone, that 
sensibility of principle, that chastity of honour, 
which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired 
courage whilst it mitigated ferocity, and ennobled 
whatever it touched, and under which vice itself 
lost half its evil by losing all its grossness. 



DANTE —MILTON. —Macaulay. 

The character of Milton was peculiarly distin- 
guished by loftiness of thought ; that of Dante by 
intensity of feeling. In every line of the Divine Co- 
medy we discern the asperity which is produced by 
pride struggling with misery. There is perhaps no 
work in the world so deeply and uniformly sorrow- 
ful. The melancholy of Dante was no fantastic 
caprice. It was not, as far as at this distance of 
time cm be judged, the effect of external circum- 
stances. It was from within. Neither love nor 



PROSE-READING. 2i[ 

glory, neither the conflicts of the earth, nor the 
hope of heaven, could dispel it. It twined every 
consolation and every pleasure into its own nature. 
It resembled that noxious Sardinian soil of which 
the intense bitterness is said to have been per- 
ceptible even in its honey. His mind was, in the 
noble language of the Hebrew poet, "a land of 
darkness, as darkness itself, and where the light 
was as darkness!" The gloom .of his character 
discolours all the passions of men, and all the face 
of nature, and tinges with its own livid hue the 
flowers of Paradise and the glories of the Eternal 
Throne. All the portraits of him are singularly 
characteristic. No person can look on the features, 
noble even to ruggedness, the dark furrows of the 
cheek, the haggard and woeful stare of the eye, the 
sullen and contemptuous curve of the lip, and doubt 
that they belonged to a man too proud and too sen- 
sitive to be happy. 

Milton was, like Dante, a statesman and a lover ; 
and, like Dante, he had been unfortunate in ambi- 
tion and in love. He had survived his health and his 
sight, the comforts of his home and the prosperity 
of his party. Of the great men by whom he had 
been distinguished on his entrance into life, some 
had been taken away from the evil to come ; some 
had carried into foreign climates their unconquer- 
able hatred of oppression ; some were pining in 
dungeons ; and some had poured forth their blood 
on scaffolds. That hateful proscription — facetiously 
termed the act of indemnity and oblivion — had set 
a mark on the poor, blind, deserted poet, and held 

B 4 



2 IS APPENDIX. 

him up by name to the hatred of a profligate Court 
and an inconstant people. Venal and licentious 
scribblers, with just sufficient talent to clothe the 
thoughts of a pander in the style of a bellman, were 
now the favourite writers of the sovereign and the 
public. It was a loathsome herd — which could be 
compared to nothing, so fitly, as to the rabble 
of Comus — grotesque monsters, half bestial, half 
human, — dropping with wine, bloated with glut- 
tony, and reeling in obscene dances. Amidst these 
his Muse was placed, like the chaste lady of the 
Masque, lofty, spotless and serene — to be chatted 
at, and pointed at, and grinned at, by the whole 
tribe of Satyrs and Goblins. 

If ever despondency could be excused in any 
man, it might have been excused in Milton. But 
the strength of his mind overcame every calamity. 
Neither blindness, nor gout, nor penury, nor age, 
nor domestic afflictions, nor political disappoint- 
ments, nor abuse, nor proscription, nor neglect, had 
power to disturb his sedate and majestic patience. 
His spirits do not seem to have been high, but they 
were singularly equable. His temper was serious, 
perhaps stern ; but it was a temper which no suf- 
ferings could render sullen or fretful. Such as 
it was, when on the eve of great events he returned 
from his travels, in the prime of health and manly 
beauty, loaded with literary distinctions and glow- 
ing with patriotic hopes, such it continued to be 
* — when, after having experienced every cala- 
mity which is incident to our nature, old, poor, 
sightless, and disgraced, he retired to his hovel to 
die! 



PK0S2-KEADING. 249 



VULGARITY AND AFFECTATION.— *Hazlitt. 

Few subjects are more nearly allied than these 
two, — vulgarity and affectation. It maybe said of 
them truly that " thin partitions do their bounds 
divide." There cannot be a surer proof of a low 
origin, or of an innate meanness of disposition, 
than to be always talking and thinking of being 
genteel. We must have a strong tendency to that 
which we are always trying to avoid ; whenever 
we pretend, on all occasions, a mighty contempt for 
anything, it is a pretty clear sign that we feel our- 
selves very nearly on a level with it. Of the two 
classes of people, I hardly know which is to be 
regarded with most distaste, the vulgar aping the 
genteel, or the genteel constantly sneering at, and 
endeavouring to distinguish themselves from the 
vulgar. These two sets of person are always 
thinking of one another ; the lower of the higher 
with envy, the more fortunate of their less happy 
neighbours with contempt. They are habitually 
placed in opposition to each other; jostle in their 
pretensions at every turn; and the same objects 
and train of thought (only reserved by the relative 



* This extract may be of value to young people, and to some 
older ones, in correcting the habit of thinking and saying, 
" such a thing is vulgar,'' or " such a thing is not genteel" 
Nothing is vulgar which is natural aud not offensive to 
others. 



259 APPENDIX. 

situation of either party) occupy their whole time 
and attention. The one are straining every nerve, 
and outraging common sense to be thought 'g dated; 
the other have no other object or idea in their heads 
than not to be thought vulgar. This is but poor 
spite; a very pitiful style of ambition. To be 
merely not that which one heartily despises, is a 
very 'humble claim to superiority ; to despise what 
one really is, is still worse. Affectation is the 
master-key to both. 

Gentility * is only a more select and artificial 
kind of vulgarity. It cannot exist but by a sort 
of borrowed distinction. It judges of the worth 
of everything by name, fashion and opinion ; and 
hence, from the conscious absence of real qualities, 
or sincere satisfaction in itself, it builds its super- 
cilious and fantastic conceits on the wretchedness 
and wants of others. Violent antipathies are al- 
ways suspicious, and betray a secret affinity. The 
difference between the "great" vulgar and the 
" small" is mostly in outward circumstances. The 
coxcomb criticises the dress of the clown, as the 
pedant cavils at the bad grammar of the illiterate. 
Those who have the fewest resources in themselves 
naturally seek the food of their self-love elsewhere. 
The most ignorant people find most to laugh at in 
strangers : scandal and satire pi'evail most in coun- 
try places ; and a propensity to ridicule every the 



* Of course by " gentility " Hazlitt does not mean the spirit 
of a gentleman; but that would be gentility which prides itself 
on being unlike what it calls " the vulgar." 



PROSE-READING. 25 1 

slightest or most palpable deviation from what 
we happen to approve, ceases with the progress of 
common sense and decency. True worth does not 
exult in the faults and deficiencies of others ; as 
true refinement turns away from grossness and 
deformity, instead of being tempted to indulge in an 
unmanly triumph over it. Raphael would not faint 
away at the daubing of a signpost, nor Homer 
hold his head the higher for being in the company 
of a Grub-street bard. Real powers, real excellence, 
does not seek for a foil in imperfection ; nor fear 
contamination from coming in contact with that 
which is coarse and homely. It reposes on itself, 
and is equally free from spleen and affectation. But 
the spirit of gentility is the mere essence of spleen 
and affectation ; of affected delight in its own 
ivould-be qualifications, and of ineffable disdain 
poured out upon the involuntary blunders or acci- 
dental disadvantages of those whom it chooses to 
treat as its inferiors. 

"I like it," says Miss Broughton in Evelina 
(meaning the opera), " because it is not vulgar.* 
That is, she likes it, not because there is anything 
to like in it, but because other people are prevented 
from liking or knowing anything about it. 

The essence of vulgarity, I imagine, consists in 
taking manners, actions, words, opinions on trust 
from others, without examining one's own feelings, 
or weighing the merits of the case. It is coarseness 
and shallowness of taste, arising from want of indivi- 
dual refinement, together with the confidence and 
presumption inspired by example and numbers. 



252 APPENDIX, 

To affect a gesture, an opinion, a phrase, because it 
is the rage with a large number of persons, or to 
hold it in abhorrence, because another set of per- 
sons, very little, if at all better informed, cry it 
down to distinguish themselves from the former, is 
in either case equal vulgarity and absurdity. 

A thing in not vulgar because it is common. 
It is common to breathe, to see. to feel, to live. 
Nothing is vulgar that is natural, spontaneous, un- 
avoidable. Grossness is not vulgarity, ignorance 
is not vulgarity, awkwardness is not vulgarity; but 
all these become vulgar when they are affected 
and shown off on the authority of others, or to fall 
in with the fashion, or the company we keep. Ca- 
liban is coarse enough, but surely he is not vulgar. 
We might as well spurn the clod under our feet and 
call it vulgar. Cobbett is coarse enough, but he is 
not vulgar. He does not belong to the herd. No- 
thing real, nothing original can be vulgar ; but I 
should think an imitator of Cobbett a vulgar man. 
Emery's* Yorkshireman is vulgar, because he is a 
Yorkshireman.f It is the cant and gibberish, the 
cunning and low life of a particular district ; it 



* The celebrated representative of York shir emen in Hazlitt's 
day. 

j- This sentence may serve as an example of the power of 
emphasis to alter and vary meaning, as it shall be placed on 
different words. The point intended to be conveyed — the 
general idea illustrated by an individual example — is, that 
"provincialism" is "vulgarity;" the Yorkshiremen re- 
presented by Emery are "provincial," and therefore vulgar. 



PROSE-READING. 253 

has "a stamp exclusive and provincial." He might 
u gabble most brutishly," and yet not fall under 
the letter of the definition ; but " his speech be- 
wrayeth him ;" his dialect, like the jargon of a Bond- 
street lounger, is the damning * circumstance. If 
he were a mere blockhead, it would not signify ; 
but he thinks himself a knowing hand, according to 
the notions and practices of those with whom he 
was brought up, and which he thinks the go every- 
where, . In a word, this character is not the off- 
spring of untutored nature, but of bad habits : it 
is made up of ignorance and conceit. It has a 

Now, to convey this meaning perfectly, we must read — 
"Emery's Yorkshireman** 1 is vulgar, because ** 1 lie is a Yorkshire- 
man;" making "he is a Yorkshireman "pronominal. 

If we read the sentence thus : — " Emery's Yorkshireman is 

vulgar, because he is a Yorkshireman," we should imply that 
vulgarity was more the distinguishing mark of Yorkshire- 
men than of Lancashire-men, or men of any other county; 
which is not the meaning intended. 

Again, if we read " Emery's Yorkshireman is vulgar, be- 
cause he*** is a Yorkshireman," — we should imply that the vul- 
garity of the representation arose from the fact of the actor's 
being himself vulgar. 

Lastly, if we read " Emery's Yorkshireman is vulgar, be- 
cause he is** 1 a Yorkshireman," — we might imply that the 
vulgarity of the representation arose from the actor's throwing 
himself so perfectly into the character as to identify himself 
with it, so as actually to become, as it were, the being he re- 
presents, and invest himself with all its attributes. 

* Pronounce this word dam-niny meaning " condemning.** 



254 APPENDIX. 

mixture of slang in it. All slang phrases are fo:; 
the same reason vulgar ; but there is nothing 
vulgar in the common English idiom. Simplicity 
is not vulgarity; but the looking to affectation oi 
any sort for distinction is. A cockney is a vulgar 
character, whose imagination cannot wander beyond 
the suburbs of the metropolis ; so is a fellow who 
is always thinking of the High-street, Edinburgh. 
We want a name for this last character. An 
opinion is vulgar that is stewed in the rank breath 
of the rabble ; nor is it a bit purer or more refined 
for having passed through the well-cleansed teeth 
of the whole court. The inherent vulgarity is in 
having no other feeling on any subject than the 
crude, blind, headlong, gregarious notion acquired 
by sympathy with the mixed multitude, or with a 
fastidious minority, who are just as insensible to 
the real truth, and as indifferent to everything but 
their own frivolous and vexatious pretensions. The 
upper are not wiser than the lower classes, because 
they resolve to differ from them. The fashionable 
have the advantage of the unfashionable in nothing 
but the fashion. The true vulgar are the servum 
pecus imitatorum, — the herd of pretenders to what 
they do not feel, and to what is not natural to 
them, whether in high or low life. 

There is a well-dressed and an ill-dressed mob, 
both of which I hate. Odi profanum vulgus, ei 
arceo. The vapid affectation of the one is to me 
even more intolerable than the gross insolence and 
brutality of the other. If a set of low-lived fellows 



PR0SE-KEAD1NG. 255 

are noisy, rude and boisterous, to show their dis- 
regard of the company, a set of fashionable coxcombs 
are, to a nauseous degree, finical and effeminate, 
to show their thorough-breeding. The one are 
governed by their feelings, however coarse and 
misguided, which is something ; the others consult 
only appearances, which are nothing, either as a test 
of happiness or virtue. 



THE ESTABLISHMENT OF CHRISTIANITY.*— 

MlLMAN. 

Conceive, then, the apostles of Jesus Christ, the 
tent-maker or the fisherman, entering, as strangers, 
into one of the splendid cities of Syria, Asia Minor, 
or Greece. Conceive them, I mean, as unendowed 
with miraculous powers, having adopted their itine- 
rant system of teaching from human motives, and 
for human purposes alone. As they pass along to 
the remote and obscure quarter, where they expect 
to meet with precarious hospitality among their 
countrymen, they survey the strength of the estab- 
lished religion, which it is their avowed purpose to 



* Given by Dr. Whately in the Appendix to his Elements 
of Rhetoric, as an instance of the power of imagination in 
giving reality to narration. 



2,56 APPENDIX. 

overthrow. Everywhere they behold temples, 09 
which the utmost extravagance of expenditure has 
been lavished by succeeding generations ; idols of 
the most exquisite workmanship, to which, even if 
the religions feeling of adoration is enfeebled, the 
people are strongly attached by national or local 
vanity. They meet processions, in which the idle 
find perpetual occupation, the young excitement 
the voluptuous a continual stimulant to their pas- 
sions. They behold a priesthood, numerous, some- 
times wealthy ; nor are these alone wedded by 
interest to the established faith ; many of the 
trades, like those of the makers of silver shrines in 
Ephesus, are pledged to the support of that to 
which they owe their maintenance They pass a 
magnificent theatre, on the splendour and success 
of which the popularity of the existing authorities 
mainly depends ; and in which the serious exhibi- 
tions are essentially religious, the lighter, as inti- 
mately connected with the indulgence of the baser 
passions. They behold another public building-, 
where even worse feelings, the cruel and the san- 
guinary, are pampered by the animating contests of 
wild beasts and of gladiators, in which they them- 
selves may shortly play a dreadful part, — 

Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday! 

Show and spectacle are the characteristic enjoy- 
ments of the whole people, and every show and 
spectacle is either sacred to the religious feelings, 
or incentive to the lusts of the flesh ; those feelings 



PROSE-READING. 257 

wkinh must be entirely eradicated, those In^s 
which must be brought into total subjection to the 
law of Christ. They encounter likewise itinerant 
jugglers, diviners, magicians, who impose upon the 
credulous, and excite the contempt of the en- 
lightened ; in the first case, dangerous rivals to 
those who should attempt to propagate a new faith 
by imposture and deception ; in the latter, naturally 
tending to prejudice the mind against all miracu- 
lous pretensions whatever : here, like Elymas, en- 
deavouring to outdo the signs and wonders of the 
apostles ; there, throwing suspicion on all asserted 
supernatural agency, by the frequency and clumsi- 
ness of their delusions. They meet philosophers, 
frequently itinerant like themselves ; or teachers of 
new religions, priests of Isis and Serapis, who have 
brought into equal discredit what might otherwise 
have appeared a proof of philanthropy, the perform- 
ing laborious journeys at the sacrifice, of personal 
ease and comfort for the moral and religious im- 
provement of mankind ; or at least have so accus- 
tomed the public mind to similar pretensions, as to 
take away every attraction from their boldness or 
novelty. There are also the teachers of the different 
mysteries, which would engross all the anxietv of 
the inquisitive, perhaps excite, even if they did not 
eacisfy, the hopes of the more pure and loft v -minded. 
Such must have been among the obstacles which 
would force themselves on the calmer moments of 
the most ardent ; such the ovei powering difficulties 
of which it would be impossible to overlook the 
importance, or elude the force ; which required no 
ft 



258 APPENDIX. 

sober calculation to estimate, no laborious inquiry 
to discover; which met and confronted them where- 
ever they went, and which, either in desperate 
presumption, or deliberate reliance on their own 
preternatural powers, they must have contemned 
and defied. 

The commencement of their labours was usu- 
ally disheartening, and ill calculated to keep alive 
the flame of ungrounded enthusiasm. They begin 
their operations in the narrow and secluded syna- 
gogue of their own countrymen. The novelty of 
their doctrine, and curiosity, secure them at first a 
patient attention ; but, as the more offensive tenets 
are developed, the most fierce and violent passions 
are awakened. Scorn and hatred are seen working 
in the clouded brows and agitated countenances of 
the leaders : if here and there one is pricked to the 
heart, it requires considerable moral courage to 
acknowledge his conviction ; and the new teachers 
are either cast forth from the indignant assembly 
of their own people, liable to all the punishments 
which they are permitted to inflict, scourged and 
beaten ; or, if they succeed in forming a party, 
they give rise to a furious schism; and thus appear 
before the heathen with the dangerous notoriety of 
having caused a violent tumult, and broken the 
public peace by their turbulent and contentious 
harangues : at all events, disclaimed by that very 
people on whose traditions they profess to build 
their doctrines, and to whose Scriptures they appeal 
in justification of their pretensions c They endure* 
they persevere, they continue to sustain the contest 



PROSE-READING. 259 

against Judaism and paganism. It is still their 
deliberate, ostensible, and avowed object to over- 
throw all this vast system of idolatry ; to tear up 
by the roots all ancient prejudices ; to silence 
shrines, sanctified by the veneration of ages as 
oracular ; to consign all those gorgeous temples to 
decay, and all those images to contempt ; to wean 
the people from every barbarous and dissolute 
amusement. 

But in one respect it is impossible now to con- 
ceive the extent, to which the apostles of the 
crucified Jesus shocked all the feelings of mankind. 
The public establishment of Christianity, the ado- 
ration of ages, the reverence of nations, has thrown 
around the cross of Christ an indelible and inalien- 
able sanctity. No effort of the imagination can 
dissipate the illusion of dignity which has gathered 
round it ; it has been so long dissevered from all its 
coarse and humiliating associations, that it cannot 
be cast back and desecrated into its state of oppro- 
brium and contempt. To the most daring unbeliever 
among ourselves, it is the symbol, the absurd and 
irrational he may conceive, but still the ancient 
and venerable symbol, of a powerful and influential 
religion : what was it to the Jew and to the 
heathen ? the basest, the most degrading punish- 
ment of the lowest criminal ! the proverbial terror 
of the wretched slave ! it was to them, what the 
most despicable and revolting instrument of public 
execution is to us. Yet to the cross of Christ men 
turned from deities in which were embodied every 
attribute of strength, power, and dignity; in an 

3 2 



260 APPENDIX. 

incredibly short space of time multitudes gave up 
the splendour, the pride, and the power of paganism* 
to adore a Being, who was thus humiliated beneath 
the meanest of mankind, who had become, accord- 
ing to the literal interpretation of the prophecy, a 
very scorn of ?nen> and an outcast of the people. 



UTEKARY AND POLITICAL PURSUITS CON- 
TRASTED. 

(From Mr. R. P. Ward's novel of De Yere.) 

[The following is an Essay in the form of a conversation, and 
mnstbe read, therefore, in a lighter style than a formal essay; 
yet more formally than an ordinary conversation. It is a dis- 
cussion between Wentworth (who is intended as a portrait of 
Mr. Canning), Sir George Deloraine, and Dr. Herbert, arising 
from Wentworth's having observed Sir George coming out of 
Westminster Abbey by the door at Poet's Corner. Meeting 
him afterwards at dinner, Wentworth rallies the baronet on 
his taste for the monuments of departed genius ; and the con- 
versation thus proceeds:—] 

" It would do all you men of power good," conti- 
nued Sir George, " if you were to visit them too ; 
for it would show you how little more than upon a 
level is often the reputation of the greatest states- 
men with the fame of those who, by their genius, 
their philosophy, or love of letters improve and 
gladden life even after they are gone." 

The whole company saw the force of this remark, 
and Wentworth not the least among them. 

" You have touched a theme," said he, " which 



PROSE-READING. 261 

has often engaged me, and others before me, with 
the keenest interest. I know nothing so calculated 
as this very reflection to cure us poor political slaves 
(especially when we feel the tugs we are obliged to 
sustain) of being dazzled by meteors." 

" Meteors do you call them? " said Dr. Herbert. 
" Men do not run after meteors with such rapid 
and persevering steps as you great people pursue 
ambition. " 

" I grant you," returned his friend ; " and if we 
did not think them something better, who would 
give himself up to such labour, such invasions of his 
privacy and leisure, as w r e are forced to undergo?" 

"What is it, then, that seduces you ?" 

" A little intoxication," returned Mr. Wentworth, 
laughing off a subject which he did not wish 
carried too far ; " for which you philosophers say 
we ought to be whipped, and for which whipped 
we often are. Those, however, who want this 
whipping would do well to take Sir George's ad- 
vice, and visit the shrines of the mighty dead. 
They would see how inferior most of themselves 
are in present estimation to beings who, when 
alive, could not, in splendour at least, compare 
with them. I have too often made the reflection, 
and was not the happier for it." 

" You cannot be serious," said the divine ; "since 
who are such real benefactors to mankind as en- 
lightened legislators and patriot warriors ? What 
poet I had almost said what philosophers can stand 
in competition with the founder or defender of 
his country?" 

8 3 



262 apfsxpix. 

" As T <; your own Homer, your own Shakspeare/' 
answered Wentwortb, forgetting his ambition for 
a moment in his love of letters. 

" You take me in my weak part," said Herbert ; 
and the subject would carry us too far. I would 
remark, however, that but for the Solons, the Ro- 
muluses, the Charlemagnes, and Alfreds, we should 
have no Homer or Shakspeare to charm us." 

" I know this is your favourite theme," said the 
minister; "and you know how much I agree with 
you. But this is not precisely the question raised 
by Sir George ; which is, the superiority in the 
Temple of Fame enjoyed by men distinguished by 
their efforts in song or history (but who might have 
been mere beggars when alive) over those who 
flaunted it superciliously over them in a pomp and 
pride which are now absolutely forgotten." 

u I will have nothing to do with supercilious 
Saunters," replied Herbert ; " I think of the liberal, 
the patriotic, who seek power for the true ^ises of 
power, in order to diffuse blessing and protection all 
around them. These can never fail to be deservedly 
applauded ; and I honour such ambition as of infinitely 
more real consequence to the world than those 
whose works (however I may love them in private) 
can, from the mere nature of things, he known only 
to a few." 

" All that is most true," said Mr. Wentworth ; 
"and for awhile public men of the description 
you mention fill a larger space in the eye of man- 
kind ; that is, of contemporary mankind. But ex tin- 
guish their power, no matter by what means? 



PROSE-READING. 263 

whether by losing favour at court, or being turned 
out by the country, to both which they are alike 
subject. — let death forcibly remove them, or a queen 
die, — and their light, like Bolingbroke's, goes out of 
itself; their influence is certainly gone, and where 
is even their reputation ? It may glimmer for a 
minute, like the dying flame of a taper; after which 
they soon cease to be mentioned, perhaps even re- 
membered." 

" Surely," said the Doctor, " this is too much in 
extremes." 

" And yet," continued Wentworth, a have we not 
all heard of a maxim, appalling to all lovers of po- 
litical fame, that nobody is missed? Alas! then, are 
we not compelled to burst out with the poet ? — 

" What boots it with incessant care 
To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade, 
And strictly meditate the thankless muse? 
"Were it not better done, as others use, 
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 
Or with the tangles of Neceras' hair? ' " 

Both Sir George and De Yere kindled at this ; 
and the doctor himself smiled when the minister 
proceeded. 

11 In short," said he, " when a statesman or even 
a conqueror is departed, it depends upon the hap- 
pier poet or philosophic historian to make even his 
name known to posterity ; while the historian or 
poet acquires immortality for himself in conferring 
upon his heroes an inferior existence." 

" Inferior existence ! " exclaimed Herbert. 
8 4 



264 APPENDIX. 

" Yes ; you look at Plutarch, and ask which are 
most esteemed, himself or those he records? Look 
at the old Claudii and Manlii of Livy; or the 
characters in Tacitus ; or Mecaenas, Agrippa, or 
Augustus himself, — princes, emperors, ministers, 
esteemed by contemporaries as gods ! Fancy their 
splendour in the eye of the multitude while the 
multitude follow them. Look at them now ! Spite 
even of their beautiful historians, we have often 
difficulty in rummaging out their old names ; while 
those who wrote or sang of them live before our 
eyes. The benefits they conferred passed in a 
minute, while the compositions that record them 
last for ever." 

Mr. Wentworth's energy moved his hearers, and 
even Herbert, who was too classical not to be 
shaken by their arguments. 

"Still, however," said the latter, "we admire 
and even wish to emulate Camillus, Miltiades and 
Alexander; a Sully and a Clarendon." 

"Add a Lord Burleigh," replied the minister, 
"who, in reference to Spenser, thought a hundred 
pounds an immense sum for a song ! Which is now 
most thought of, or most loved, the calculating 
minister or the poor poet ? the puissant treasurer, or 
he who was left, * in suing long to bide V " 

Sir George and De Vere, considering the quar- 
ter whence it came, were delighted with this 
question. The doctor was silent, and seemed to 
wish his great friend to go on. He proceeded 
thus : — 

" I might make the same question as to Horace 



PROSE -READING. 265 

and Mecsenas ; and yet, I dare say, Horace was as 
proud of being taken in Mecsenas* coach to the 
capital as the Dean of St. Patrick's in Oxford's or 
Bolingbroke's to Windsor. Yet Oxford is even 
now chiefly remembered through that very dean ; 
and so, perhaps, would Bolingbroke, but that he 
is an author, and a very considerable one, himself. 
We may recollect," continued he, " the manner in 
which Whitelock mentions Milton — that e one 
Milton, a blind man/ was made secretary to Crom- 
well. Whitelock was then the first subject in the 
state, and lived in all the pomp of the seals and all 
the splendour of Bulstrode ; while the blind man 
waked at early morn to listen to the lark bidding 
him good-morrow at his cottage-window* Where 
is the lord-keeper now ? where the blind man ? 
What is known of Addison as secretary of state? and 
how can His Excellency compare with the man who 
charms us so exquisitely in his writings ? When I 
have visited his interesting house at Bilton in 
Warwickshire, sat in his study, and read his very 
books, no words can describe my emotions. I 
breathe his official atmosphere here, but without 
thinking of him at all. In short, there is this 
delightful superiority in literary over political 
fame, that the one, to say the best of it, stalks in 
cold grandeur upon stilts, like a French tragedy 
actor ; while the other winds itself into our warm 
hearts, and is hugged there with all the affection 
of & friend, and all the admiration of a Iqyqv" 



266 APPENDIX. 



XESTORY AND FICTION IN LITERATURE — 
Thackeray. 

What do we look for in studying the history of a 
past age? Is it to learn the political transactions 
and characters of the leading public men? is it to 
make ourselves acquainted with the life and being 
of the time ? If we set out with the former grave 
purpose, where is the truth, and who believes that 
he has it entire? What character of what great 
man is known to you ? You can but make guesses 
as to character, more or less happy. In common life 
don't you often judge and misjudge a man's whole 
conduct, setting out from a wrong impression? 
The tone of a voice, a word said in joke, or a trifle 
in behaviour, the cut of his hair or the tie of his 
neckcloth, may disfigure him in your eyes, or poison 
your good opinion ; or, at the end of years of inti- 
macy, it may be your closest friend says something, 
reveals something, which had previously been a 
secret, which alters all your views about him, and 
shows that he has been acting on quite a different 
motive to that which you fancied you knew. And 
if it is so with those you know, how much more 
with those you don't know ? Say, for example, 
that I want to understand the character of the 
Duke of Marlborough. I read Swift's History of 
the Times, in which he took a part — the shrewdest 
of observers, and initiated, one would think, into 
the politics of the age — he hints to me that Marl- 
borough w r as a coward, and even of doubtful mill- 



PROSE-READING. 2G7 

tary capacity; he speaks of Walpoleas a contempt- 
ible bore; and scarcely mentions, except to flout it, 
the great intrigue of the Queen's latter days, which 
was to have ended in bringing back the Pretender. 
Again, I read Marlborough's life by a copious 
archdeacon, who has the command of immense 
papers, of various languages, of what is called the 
best information, and I get little or no insight into 
this secret motive, which I believe influenced the 
whole of Marlborough's career, which caused his 
wormings and windings, his opportune fidelity and 
treason, stopped his army almost at Paris' gate, 
and landed him finally on the Hanoverian side — 
the winning side ; I get, I say, no truth, or only a 
portion of it, in the narrative of either writer, and 
believe that Coxe's portrait or Swift's portrait is 
quite unlike the real Churchill. I take this as a 
single instance, prepared to be as sceptical about 
any other, and say to the Muse of History, " O, 
venerable daughter of Mnemosyne^ I doubt every 
single statement you ever made since your ladyship 
was a Muse! For all your grave airs and high 
pretensions, you are not a whit more trustworthy 
than some of your lighter sisters on whom your 
partisans look down. You bid me listen to a 
general's oration to his soldiers. Nonsense! He 
no more made it than Turpin made his dying 
speech at Newgate. You pronounce a panegyric 
of a hero ; I doubt it, and say you flatter out- 
rageously. You utter the condemnation of a loose 
character ; I doubt it, and think you are prejudiced, 
and take the side of the Dons, You offer me an 



268 APPENDIX. 

autobiography ; I doubt all autobiographies I ever 
read except those, perhaps, of Mr. Robinson Crusoe, 
Manner, and writers of his class. These have no 
object in setting themselves right with the public 
or their own consciences ; these have oo motive for 
concealment or half-truth, these call for no more con- 
fidence than I can cheerfully give, and do not force 
me to tax my credulity or to fortify it by evidence. 
I take up a volume of Dr. Smollett, or a volume of 
the Spectator, and say the fiction carries a greater 
amount of truth in solution than the volume which 
purports to be all true. Out of the fictitious book I 
get the expression of the life of the time, of the 
manners, of the movement, the dress, the pleasures, 
the laughter, the ridicules of society — the old times 
live again, and I travel in the old country of 
England. Can the heaviest historian do more for 
me?" 

As we read in the delightful volumes of the 
" Tatler " and the " Spectator " the past age returns, 
the England of our ancestors is revivified. The 
May-pole rises in the Strand again, in London ; 
the churches are thronged with daily worshippers ; 
the beaux are gathering in the coffee-houses, — the 
gentry are going to the drawing-rooms, — the ladies 
are thronging to the toy-shops, — the chairmen are 
jostling in the streets, — the footmen are running 
with links before the chariots, or fighting round 
the theatre-doors. In the country I see the young 
squire riding to Eton with his servants behind him, 
and Will Wimble, the friend of the family, to see him 



PliOSE-EEADING. 269 

safe, To make that journey to the squire's and 
back, Will is a week on horseback. The coach 
takes five days between London and the Bath. 
The judges and the bar ride the circuit. If my 
lady comes to town in her post-chariot, her people 
carry pistols, to fire a salute at Captain Mackheath, 
if he should appear, and her couriers ride a-head to 
prepare apartments for her at the great caravanse- 
raries on the road. Boniface receives her under the 
sign of tiie Bell or the Ram, and he and his chamber- 
lains bow her up the great stair to the state apart- 
ments, whilst her carriage rumbles into the court- 
yard where the Exeter Fly is housed that performs 
the journey in eight days, God willing, having 
achieved its daily flight of twenty miles, and landed 
its passengers for supper and sleep. The mate is 
taking his pipe in the kitchen, where the captain's 
man, having hung up his master's half-pike, is at 
his bacon and eggs, bragging of Ramillies and Mai- 
plaquet to the townsfolk who have their club in the 
chimney-corner. The packhorses are in the great 
stable, and the drivers and ostlers conversing in 
the tap. And in Mrs. Landlady's bar, over a glass 
of strong waters, sits a gentleman of military ap- 
pearance, who travels with pistols, as all the rest 
of the world do, and has a rattling grey mare in 
the stables, which will be saddled and away with 
its owner half-an-hour before the "Fly" sets out on 
its last day's flight. And some five miles on the 
road, as the Exeter Fly comes jingling and creaking 
onwards, it will suddenly be brought to a halt by a 



270 APPENDIX, 

gentleman on a grey mare with a black vizard on 
his face, who thrusts a long pistol into the coach - 
window, and bids the company to hand out their 
purses. 

It must have been no small pleasure even to sit 
in the great kitchen in those days, and see the tide 
of humankind pass by. We arrive in places now, 
but we travel no more. I would have liked to 
travel in those days (being of that class of travel- 
lers who are proverbially pretty easy coram latroni- 
bus) 9 and have seen my friend with the grey mare 
and the black vizard. Alas ! there always came 
a day in the life of that warrior when it was the 
fashion to accompany him ? as he passed — without 
his black mask, and a nosegay in his hand, accom- 
panied by halberdiers and attended by the sheriff 
— in a carriage without springs, and a clergyman 
jolting beside him, to a spot close by Cumberland 
Gate and the Marble Arch, w r hereastone still records 
that here Tyburn turnpike stood. What a change 
in a century — in a few years! Within a few yards 
of that gate the fields began : the fields of his 
exploits, behind the hedges of which he lurked and 
robbed. A great and wealthy city has grown over 
those meadows. Were a man brought to die there 
now, the windows would be closed and the in- 
habitants keep their houses in sickening horror. A 
hundred years back people crowded to see the last 
act of a highwayman's life, and make jokes on it. 
Swift laughed at him, grimly advising him to 
provide a Holland shirt and white cap crowned 



PROSE-READING. 27 1 

with a crimson or black ribbon for his exit, tr» 
mount the cart cheerfully, shake hands with the 
hangman, and so — farewell. 

Gay wrote the most delightful ballads over the 
same hero. Contrast these writings with the writ- 
ings of our present humourists. Compare these 
morals and ours — ■ those manners and ours. — 
Thackeray's Lectures. 



MR, GRESBURY, M.P., AND THE DEPUTATION.— 
Dickens. 

Within the precincts of the ancient city of West- 
minster, and within half-a-quarter of a mile of its 
ancient sanctuary, is a narrow and dirty region, the 
sanctuary of the smaller members of parliament in 
modern clays. It is all comprised in one street of 
gloomy lodging-houses, from whose windows;, in 
vacation time, there frown long, melancholy rows of 
bills, which say as plainly as did the countenances 
of their occupiers, ranged on ministerial and op- 
position benches in the session which slumbers 
with its fathers, " To let " — Ci To let." In busier 
periods of the year these bills disappear, and the 
houses swarm with legislators. There are legisla- 
tors in the parlours, in the first floor, in the second, 
in the third, in the garrets ; the small apartments 
reek with the breath of deputations and delegates. 
In damp weather the place is rendered close by 
the steams of moist acts of parliament and frowsy 



272 APPENDIX. 

petitions ; general-postmen grow faint as they enter 
its infected limits ; and shabby figures, in quest of 
franks, flit restlessly to and fro, like the troubled 
ghosts of Complete Letter-writers departed. This is 
Manchester-buildings, and here, at all hours of the 
night, may be heard the rattling of latch-keys in 
their respective key-holes, with now and then — 
when a gust of wind, sweeping across the water 
which washes the buildings' fret, impels the sound 
towards its entrance — the weak, shrill voice of 
some young member practising the morrow's speech. 
All the live-long day there is a grinding of organs 
and clashing and clanging of little boxes of music ; 
for Manchester-buildings is an eel- pot, which has 
no outlet but its awkward mouth — a case-bottle 
which has no thoroughfare, and a short and narrow 
neck ; and in this respect it may be typical of the 
fate of some few among its more adventurous resi- 
dents, who, after wriggling themselves into parlia- 
ment by violent efforts and contortions, find that 
it is no thoroughfare for them ; that, like Man- 
chester-buildings, it leads to nothing beyond itself, 
and that they are fain at last to back out, no wiser, 
no richer, not one whit more famous, than they 
went in. 

Into Manchester-buildings Nicholas turned, with 
the address of the great Mr. Gregsbury in his hand; 
and, as there was a stream of people pouring into 
a shabby house not far from the entrance, he waited 
until they had made their way in; and then, making 
up to the servant, ventured to inquire if he knew 
where Mr. Gregsbury lived, 



PROSE-READING* 273 

The servant was a very pale, shabby boy, who 
looked as if he had slept under ground from his 
infancy, as very likely he had. " Mr. Gregsbury ?" 
said he ; " Mr, Gregsbury lodges here. It's all 
right. Come in." 

Nicholas thought he might as well get in while 
he could; so in he walked ; and he had no sooner 
done so, than the boy shut the door, and made 
off. 

This was odd enough ; but what was more em- 
barrassing was, that all along the narrow passage, 
and all along the narrow stairs, blocking up the 
window, and making the dark entry darker still, 
w r as a confused crowd of persons with great impor- 
tance depicted in their looks, who were, to all appear- 
ance, waiting in silent expectation of some coming 
events. From time to time one man would whisper 
his neighbour, or a little group would whisper to- 
gether; and then the whisperers would nod fiercely 
to each other, or give their heads a relentless shake, 
as if they were bent upon doing something very 
desperate, and were determined not to be put off, 
whatever happened. 

As a few minutes elapsed without anything oc- 
curring to explain this phenomenon, and as he felt 
his own position a peculiarly uncomfortable one, 
Nicholas was on the point of seeking some informa- 
tion from the man next him, when a sudden move 
was visible on the stairs, and a voice was heard to 
crv, "Now, gentlemen, have the goodness to walk 
up," 

So far from walking up, the gentlemen on the 

T 



274 APPENDIX. 

stairs began to walk down with great alacrity, and 
to entreat, with extraordinary politeness, that the 
gentlemen nearest the street would go first ; the 
gentlemen nearest the street retorted, with equal 
courtesy, that they couldn't think of such a thing 
on any account ; but they did it without thinking 
of it, inasmuch as the other gentlemen, pressing 
some half-dozen (among whom was Nicholas) for- 
ward, and closing up behind, pushed them, not 
merely up the stairs, but into the very sitting-room 
of Mr. Gregsbury, which they were thus compelled 
to enter with most unseemly precipitation and with- 
out the means of retreat, the press behind them 
more than filling the apartment. " Gentlemen/' 
said Mr. Gregsbury, "you are welcome. I am re- 
joiced to see you." 

For a gentleman who was rejoiced to see a body 
of visitors Mr. Gregsbury looked as uncomfortable 
as might be ; but perhaps this was occasioned by 
senatorial gravity, and a statesmanlike habit of 
keeping his feelings under control. He was a 
tough, burly, thick-headed gentleman, with a loud 
voice, a pompous manner, a tolerable command of 
sentences with no meaning in them, and, in short, 
every requisite for a very good member indeed. 

u Now, gentlemen," said Mr. Gregsbury, tossing 
a great bundle of papers into a wicker basket at 
his feet, and throwing himself back in his chair 
with liis arms over the elbows, " you are dissatisfied 
with my conduct, I see, by the newspapers." 

"Yes, Mr. Gregsbury, we are," said a plump, clJ 



PROSE-READING. 275 

gentleman in a violent heat, bursting out of the 
throng, and planting himself in the front. 

" Do m j eyes deceive me ?" said Mr, Gregsbury, 
looking towards the speaker, " or is that my old 
friend Pugstyles ?" 

" I am that man, and no other, sir/' replied the 
plump, old gentleman. 

" Give me your hand, my worthy friend," said 
Mr. Gregsbury. "Pugstyles, my dear friend, I 
am very sorry to see you here." 

"I am very sorry to be here, sir," said Mr. 
Pugstyles ; " but your conduct, Mr. Gregsbury, has 
rendered this deputation from your constituents 
imperatively necessary." 

" My conduct, Pugstyles ?" said Mr. Gregsbury, 
looking round upon the deputation with gracious 
magnanimity; "my conduct has been, and ever 
will be, regulated by a sincere regard for the true 
and real interests of this great and happy country, 
Whether I look at home or abroad, whether I behold 
the peaceful, industrious communities of our island 
home, her rivers covered with steamboats, her roads 
with locomotives, her streets with cabs, her skies 
with balloons of a power and magnitude hitherto un- 
known in the history of aeronautics in this or any 
other nation, — I say, whether I look merely at 
home, or, stretching my eyes further, contemplate 
the boundless prospect of conquest and possession, 
achieved by British perseverance and British valour, 
which is outspread before me, — I clasp my hands, 
and, turning my eyes to the broad expanse above my 
head, exclaim 6 Thank Heaven, I am a Briton ! ' " 



276 APPENDIX. 

The time had been when this burst of enthusiasm 
would have been cheered to the very echo ; but 
now the deputation received it with chilling cold- 
ness. The general impression seemed to be that, 
as an explanation of Mr. Gregsbury's political con- 
duct, it did not enter quite enough into detail, and 
one gentleman in the rear did not scruple to remark 
aloud, that for his purpose it savoured too much of 
a "gammon " tendency. 

" The meaning of that term ' gammon,' " said Mr. 
Gregsbury, "4s unknown to me. If it means that 
I grow a little too fervid, or perhaps even hyper- 
bolical, in extolling my native land, I admit the 
full justice of the remark. I am proud of this free 
and happy country. My form dilates, my eye 
glistens, my breast heaves, my heart swells, my 
bosom burns, when I call to mind her greatness 
and her glory." 

" We wish, sir," remarked Mr. Pugstyles, calmly, 
" to ask you a few questions." 

"If you please, gentlemen, my time is yours — 
and my country's — and my country's," said Mr. 
Gregsbury. 

This permission being conceded, Mr. Pugstyles 
put on his spectacles, and referred to a written 
paper which he drew from his pocket ; whereupon 
nearly every other member of the deputation pulled 
a written paper from his pocket to check Mr. Pug- 
styles off, as he read the questions. 

This done, Mr. Pugstyles proceeded to business. 

" Question number one. ' Whether, sir, you did 
not give a voluntary pledge, previous to your election, 



PROSE-RE AD1NG. 277 

that, in the event of jour being returned, you would 
immediately put down the practice of coughing and 
groaning in the House of Commons? and whether 
you did not submit to be coughed and groaned 
down in the very first debate of the session, and 
have since made no effort to effect a reform in this 
respect ? Whether you did not also pledge yourself 
to astonish the government, and make them shrink 
in their shoes ? and whether you have astonished 
them and made them shrink in their shoes or not ? ? " 

" Go on to the next one, my dear Pugstyles,' 
said Mr. Gregsbury. 

" Have you any explanation to- offer with r?» 
ference to that question, sir ? " asked Mr. Pugstyles 

" Certainly not/' said Mr. Gregsbury. 

The members of the deputation looked fiercely 
at each other, and afterwards at the member ; and 
" dear Pugstyles," having taken a very long stare 
at Mr. Gregsbury over the tops of his spectacles, 
resumed his list of inquiries. 

" Question number two. — ' Whether, sir, you did 
not likewise give a voluntary pledge that you would 
support your colleague on every occasion ? and 
whether you did not, the night before last desert 
him, and vote upon the other side, because the wife 
of a leader on that other side had invited Mrs. 
Gregsbury to an evening party ?'" 

" Go on," said Mr. Gregsbury. 

" Nothing to say on that either, sir?" asked the 
spokesman. 

"Nothing whatever," replied Mr. Gregsbury. 

The deputation, who had only seen him :\t ^an v ass- 
t 3 



278 APPENDIX. 

ing or election-time, were struck dumb by his 
coolness. He didn't appear like the same man ; 
then he was all milk and honey, — now he was all* 
starch and vinegar. But men are so different at 
different times. 

"Question number three — and last," said Mr. 
Pugstyles, emphatically. — "' Whether, sir, you did 
not state upon the hustings, that it was your firm 
and determined intention to oppose everything pro- 
posed ; to divide the house upon every question ; to 
move for returns upon every subject ; to place a 
motion on the books every day ; and, in short, in 
your own memorable words, to " play the devil 
with everything and everybody ?" ' n 

With this comprehensive inquiry Mr. Pugstyles 
folded up his list of questions, as did all his backers. 

Mr. Gregsbury reflected, blew his nose, threw 
himself further back in his chair, came forward 
again, leaning his elbows on the table, made a tri- 
angle with his two thumbs and his two forefingers, 
and, tapping his nose with the apex thereof, replied 
(smiling, as he said it), "I deny everything." 

At this unexpected answer a hoarse murmur arose 
from the deputation ; and the same gentleman who 
had expressed an opinion relative to the gammon- 
ing nature of the introductory speech, again made 
a monosyllabic demonstration, by growling out 
"Resign;" which growl being taken up by his 
fellows, swelled into a very earnest and general 
remonstrance. 

" I am requested, sir, to express a hope," said 
%*„ -Pno-styles. with a distinct bow, "that, on re- 



PROSE-READING. 279 

ceiving a requisition to that effect from a great 
majority of your^ constituents, you will not object 
at once to resign your seat in favour of some can- 
didate whom they think they can better trust." 

To which Mr. Gregsbury read the following 
reply, which, anticipating the request, he had com- 
posed in the form of a letter, whereof copies had 
been made, to send round to the newspapers. 

"My dear Pugstyles, 

" Next to the welfare of our beloved island — this 
great and free and happy country, whose power and 
resources are, 1 sincerely believe, illimitable — T 
value that noble independence which is an English- 
man's proudest boast, and which I fondly hope to 
bequeath to my children untarnished and unsullied. 
Actuated by no personal motives, but moved only 
by high and great constitutional considerations, 
which I will not attempt to explain, for they are 
really beneath the comprehension of those who have 
not made themselves masters, as I have, of the. 
intricate and arduous study of politics, I would 
rather keep my seat, and intend doing so. 

" Will you do me the favour to present my com- 
pliments to the constituent body, and acquaint them 
with this circumstance ? 

" With great esteem, 

" My dear Pugstyles," 

&c, &c. 

" Then you will not resign, under any circum- 
stances?" asked the spokesman. 

Mr. Gregsbury smiled, and shook his head. 

T 4 



280 APPENDIX. 

" Then good morning, sir," said Mr. Pugst yles, 
angrily. 

" God bless you," said Mr. Gregsbury. And 
the deputation, with many growls and scowls, filed 
off as quickly as the narrowness of the Staircase 
would allow of their getting down. 



ORATORICAL EXTRACTS 



EVIDENCE AND PRECEDENTS IN LAW.— En skins. 

Before you can adjudge a fact ', you must believe it; 
— not suspect it, or imagine it, or fancy it, — but 
believe it: and it is impossible to impress the human 
mind with such a reasonable and certain belief, as is 
necessary to be impressed, before a Christian man 
can adjudge his neighbour to the smallest penalty, 
much less to the pains of death, without having 
such evidence as a reasonable mind will accept of 
as the infallible test of truth. And what is that 
evidence ? Neither more nor less than that which 
the Constitution has established in the courts for 
the general administration of justice : namely, that 
the evidence convince the jury, beyond all reason- 
able doubt, that the criminal intention, constituting 
the crime, existed in the mind of the man upon 
trial, and was the main-spring of his conduct. 
The rules of evidence, as they are settled by law, 
and adopted in its general administration, are 
not to be overruled or tampered with. They are 
founded in the charities of religion — in the philo- 
sophy of nature — in the truths of history — and in 
the experience of common life ; and whoever ven- 



282 Appjrrax. 

tures rashly to depart from them, let liim remember 
that it will be meted to him in the same measure, 
and that both God and man will judge him ac- 
cordingly, 

These are arguments addressed to your reasons 
and your consciences ; not to be shaken in upright 
minds by any precedent, — for no precedents can 
sanctify injustice: if they could, every human right 
would long a^o have been extinct upon the earth. 
If the State Trials in bad times are to be searched 
for precedents, what murders may you not commit 
— what law of humanity may you not trample upon 
— what rule of justice may you not violate — and 
what maxim of w T ise policy may you not abrogate 
and confound? If precedents in bad times are to 
be implicity followed, why should we have heard 
any evidence at all ? You might have convicted 
without any evidence ; for many have been so con- 
victed — -and, in this manner, murdered — even by 
acts of Parliament. If precedents in bad times are 
to be followed, why should the Lords and Commons 
have investigated these charges, and the Crown 
have put them into this course of judicial trial? — . 
since, without such a trial, and even after an ac- 
quittal upon me, they might have attainted all the 
prisoners by act of Parliament : — they did so in the 
case of Lord Strafford. 

There are precedents, therefore, for all such 
things ; but such precedents as could not for a 
moment survive the times of madness and distrac- 
tion which gave them birth ; but which, as soon as 
the spurs of the occasions were blunted, were re» 



ORATORICAL EXTRACTS. 283 

pealed and execrated even by Parliaments which 
(little as I may think of the present) ought not 
be compared with it : Parliaments— sitting in the 
darkness of former times — in the night of freedom 
— before the principles of government were de- 
veloped, and before the constitution became fixed. 
The last of these precedents,, and all the proceedings 
upon it, were ordered to be taken off the file and 
burnt, to the intent that the same might no longer 
be visible to after ages ; an order dictated, no doubt, 
by a pious tenderness for national honour, and meant 
as a charitable covering for the crimes of our fathers. 
But it was a sin against posterity — it was a treason 
against society ; for, instead of commanding them 
to be burnt, they should rather have directed them 
to be blazoned in large letters upon the walls of our 
Courts of Justice, that, like the characters deci- 
phered by the prophet of God to the Eastern tyrant, 
they might enlarge and blacken in your sights, to 
terrify you from acts of injustice. 



EXTRACT FROM MR. * MACKINTOSH'S SPEECH 
IN DEFENCE OF M, PELTIER,— 

(Prosecuted for a Libel on Napoleon Buonaparte in 1803.) 

The first remarkable instance which I shall 
choose to state of the unpunished and protected 
boldness of the English press, of the freedom with 

* Afterwards Sir James, 



284 APPENDIX. 

which they animadverted on the policy of powerful 
sovereigns, is the partition of Poland in 1772; an 
act not. perhaps, so horrible in its means, nor so 
deplorable in its immediate effects, as some other 
atrocious invasions of national independence which 
have followed it; but the most abominable in its 
general tendency and ultimate consequences of any 
political crime recorded in history ; because it was 
the first practical breach in the system of Europe, 
the first example of atrocious robbery perpetrated 
on unoffending countries, which has been since so 
liberally followed, and which has broken down all 
the barriers of ha 1 it and principle which guarded 
defenceless states. The perpetrators of this atro- 
cious crime were the most powerful sovereigns of 
the Continent, whose hostility it certainly was not 
the interest of Great Britain wantonly to incur. 
They were the most illustrious princes of their age ; 
and some of them w r ere, doubtless, entitled to the 
highest praise for their domestic administration, as 
well as for the brilliant qualities which distinguished 
their characters. But none of these circumstances, 
no dread of their resentment, no admiration of their 
talents, no consideration for their rank, silenced the 
animadversions of the English press. Some of you 
remember — all of you know — that a loud and una- 
nimous cry of reprobation and execration broke out 
against them in every part of this kingdom. It was 
perfectly uninfluenced by any considerations of our 
own mere national interest, which might perhaps 
be supposed to be rather favourably affected by that 
partition. It was not, as in some other countries, 



ORATORICAL EXTRACTS. 285 

the indignation of rival robbers who were excluded 
from their share of the prey ; it was the moral 
anger of disinterested spectators against atrocious 
crimes ; the gravest and the most dignified moral 
principle which the God of justice has implanted in 
the human heart ; that of which the dread is the 
only restraint on the actions of powerful criminals, 
and of which the promulgation is the only punish- 
ment that can be inflicted on them. It is a restraint 
which ought not to be weakened. It is a punish- 
ment which no good man can desire to mitigate. 

That great crime was spoken of as it deserved 
in England. Robbery was not described by any 
courtly circumlocutions ; rapine was not called 
policy, nor was the oppression of an innocent peo- 
ple termed a mediation in their domestic differ- 
ences. No prosecutions, no criminal informations^ 
followed the liberty and the boldness of the language 
there employed. No complaints even appear to 
have been made from abroad, much less any inso- 
lent menaces against the free constitution which 
protected the English press. The people of Eng- 
land were too long known throughout Europe for 
the proudest potentate to expect to silence our press 
by such means. 

I pass over the second partition of Poland in 1792. 
You all remember what passed on that occasion ; 
the universal abhorrence expressed by every man 
and every writer of every party ; the succours that 
were publicly preparing by large bodies of indi- 
viduals of all parties for the oppressed Poles. 

I hasten to the final dismemberment of that un- 



286 APPENDIX. 

happy kingdom, which seems to me the most strik- 
ing example in our history of the habitual, princi- 
pled, and deeply-rooted forbearance of those who 
administer the law towards political writers. We 
were engaged in the most exclusive, bloody, and 
dangerous war that this country ever knew ; and 
the parties to the dismemberment of Poland were 
our allies, and our only powerful and effective 
allies. We had every motive of policy to court 
their friendship. Every reason of state seemed to 
require that we should not permit them to be 
abused and vilified by English writers. What was 
the fact? Did any Englishman consider himself 
at liberty, on account of temporary interests, how- 
ever urgent, to silence those feelings of humanity 
and justice which guard the certain and permanent 
interests of all countries? You all remember 
that every voice, and every pen, and every press 
in England were unceasingly employed to brand 
that abominable robbery. You remember that 
this was not confined to private writers, but 
that the same abhorrence was expressed by every 
member of both Houses of Parliament who was not 
under the restraint of ministerial reserve. No 
minister dared even to blame the language of honest 
indignation which might be very inconvenient to 
his most important political projects ; and I hope I 
may venture to say, that no English assembly would 
have endured such a sacrifice of eternal justice to 
any miserable interest of an hour. Did the law- 
officers of the Crown venture to come into a court 
of justice to complain of the boldest of the publi* 



ORATORICAL EXTRACTS. 287 

rations of that time ? They did not. I do not say 
that they felt any disposition to do so. I believe that 
they could not. But I do say that, if they had, — 
if they had spoken of the necessity of confining our 
political writers to cold narrative and unfeeling ar- 
gument, — if they had informed the jury that they did 
not prosecute history but invective ; that if private 
writers be permitted at all to blame great princes it 
must be with moderation and decorum, — the sound 
heads and honest hearts of an English jury would 
have confounded such sophistry, and declared by 
their verdict that moderation of language is a rela- 
tive term, which varies with the subject to which it 
is applied ; that atrocious crimes are not to be re- 
lated as calmly and coolly as indifferent or trifling 
events ; that if there be a decorum due to exalted 
rank and authority, there is also a much more 
sacred decorum due to virtue and to human nature, 
which would be outraged and trampled under foot 
by speaking of guilt in a lukewarm language falsely 
called moderate. 

Soon after, gentlemen, there followed an act, in 
comparison with which all the deeds of rapine and 
blood perpetrated in the world are innocence it- 
self—the invasion and destruction of Switzerland; 
that unparalleled scene of guilt and enormity; that 
unprovoked aggression against an innocent country, 
which had been the sanctuary of peace and liberty 
for three centuries ; respected as a sort of sacred 
territory by the fiercest ambition ; raised, like its 
own mountains, beyond the region of the storms 
which raged around on every side ; the only war- 



288 APPENDIX. 

like people that never sent forth armies to disturb 
their neighbours; the only government that ever 
accumulated treasures unstained by the tears of the 
poor ; the inviolate patrimony of the commonwealth, 
which attested the virtue of a lon£ series of ma^is- 
trates, but which at length caught the eye of the 
spoiler, and became the occasion of their ruin ! 
Gentlemen, the destruction of such a country — its 
cause so innocent, and its fortune so lamentable — . 
made a deep impression on the people of England. 
I will ask my learned friend, if we had then been 
at peace with the French Republic, whether we 
must have been silent spectators of the foulest 
crime that ever blotted the face of humanity ? 
whether we must, like cowards and slaves, have re- 
pressed the compassion and indignation with which 
that horrible scene of tyranny had filled our hearts? 
Let me suppose, gentlemen, that Aloys Reding, 
who has displayed in our times the simplicity, 
magnanimity, and piety of ancient heroes, had, 
after his glorious struggle, honoured this kingdom 
by choosing it as his refuge, — that, after performing 
prodigies of valour at the head of his handful of 
heroic peasants on the field of Morgarten, he had 
selected this country to be his residence, as the 
chosen abode of liberty, as the ancient and invio- 
lable asylum of the oppressed, — would my learned 
friend have had the boldness to have said to this 
hero, "that he must hide his tears" (the tears shed 
by a hero over the ruin of his country !), " lest they 
might provoke the resentment of Renbill or Rapinat ; 
that he must smother the sorrow and the anger 



ORATORICAL EXTRACTS. 289 

with which his heart was loaded; that he must 
breathe his murmurs low, lest they might be over- 
heard by the oppressor!" Would this have been 
the language of my learned friend? I know that 
it would not. I know that by such a supposition I 
have done wrong to his honourable feelings, to his 
honest English heart. I am sure that he knows, as 
well as I do, that a nation which should thus receive 
the oppressed of other countries would be preparing 
its own neck for the yoke. He knows the slavery 
which such a nation would deserve, and would 
speedily incur. He knows that sympathy with the 
unmerited sufferings of others, and disinterested 
anger against their oppressors, are, if I may so 
speak, the masters which are appointed to teach us 
fortitude in the defence of our own rights ; that self- 
ishness is a dastardly principle, which betrays its 
charge and flies from its post ; and that those only 
can defend themselves with valour who are ani- 
mated by the moral approbation with which they 
can survey their sentiments towards others, who are 
ennobled in their own eyes by the consciousness that 
they are fighting for justice as well as interest, — 
a consciousness which none can feel but those who 
have felt for the wrongs of their brethren. These 
are the sentiments which my learned friend would 
have felt. He would have told the hero :- — " Your 
confidence is not deceived : this is still that Eng- 
land of which the history may, perhaps, have con- 
tributed to fill your heart with the heroism of 
liberty. Every other country of Europe is crouch- 
ing under the bloody tyrants who destroyed your 
V 



290 APPENDIX. 

country. We are unchanged ; we are still the same 
people which received with open arms the victims 
of the tyranny of Philip II. and Louis XIY. We 
shall not exercise a cowardly and clandestine hu- 
manity. Here, we are not so dastardly as to rob you 
of your greatest consolation. Here, protected by a 
free, brave, and high-minded people, you may give 
vent to your indignation ; you may proclaim the 
crimes of your tyrants ; you may devote them to the 
execration of mankind ; there is still one spot upon 
earth in which they are abhorred without being 
dreaded ! " 



SATIRICAL EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF MR. 
CANNING ON THE ADDRESS (1825). 

I now turn to that other part of the honourable 
and learned gentleman's* speech, in which he ac- 
knowledges his acquiescence in the passages of the 
Address, echoing the satisfaction felt at the success 
of the liberal commercial principles adopted by this 
country, and at the steps taken for recognising the 
new states of America. It does happen, however, 
that the honourable and learned gentleman, being 
not unfrequently a speaker in this house, nor very 
concise in his speeches, and touching occasionally, 
as he proceeds, on almost every subject within the 
range of his imagination, as well as making some 
observations on the matters in hand, and having at 
different periods proposed and supported every in* 

* Mr. Brougham. 



ORATORICAL EXTRACTS- 291 

novation of which the law or constitution of the 
country is susceptible, — it is impossible to innovate, 
without appearing to borrow from him. Either, 
therefore, we must remain for ever locked up as 
in a northern winter, or we must break our way 
out by some mode already suggested by the honour- 
able and learned gentleman : and then he cries out, 
" Ah, I was there before you ! That is what I 
told you to do; but, as you would not do it then, 
you have no right to do it now." In Queen Anne's 
reign there lived a very sage and able critic, named 
Dennis, who in his old age was the prey of a strange 
fancy, that he had himself written all the good 
things in all the good plays that were acted. Every 
good passage that he met with in any author he 
insisted was his own. " It is none of his," Dennis 
would always say ; (( it is mine." He went one 
day to see a new tragedy. Nothing particularly 
good, to his taste, occurred, till a scene in which a 
great storm was represented. As soon as he had 
heard the thunder rolling over head, he exclaimed, 
" That's my thunder ! " So it is with the honour- 
able and learned gentleman — if sail his thunder ! 
It will henceforth be impossible to confer any boon, 
or make any innovation, but he will claim it as 
his thunder. 

But it is due to him to acknowledge that he does 
not claim everything. He will be content with 
the exclusive merit of the liberal measures relating 
to trade and commence. Not desirous of violat- 
ing his own principles, by claiming a monopoly of 
foresight and wisdom, he kindly throws overboard 



292 APPENDIX. 

to my honourable and learned friend * near him, the 
praise of South America. I should like to know 
whether, in some degree, this also is not his thunder. 
He thinks it right in itself; but, lest we should be 
too proud if" he approved our conduct in toto, he 
thinks it wrong in point of time. I differ from him 
essentially : for, if I pique myself on anything in 
this affair, it is on the time. That, at some time or 
other, states which had separated themselves from 
the mother-country should be admitted to the rank 
of independent nations is a proposition to which 
no possible dissent could be given. The whole 
question was one of time and mode. There were 
two modes : one a reckless and headlong course, by 
which we might have reached our object at once, but 
at the expense of drawing upon us consequences 
not lightly to be incurred ; the other was more 
strictly guarded in point of principle ; so that, 
while we pursued our own interests, we took care 
to give no just cause of offence to other powers, 
while we acted in obedience to a sound and en- 
lightened policy* 

AGAINST "PAINE'S AGE OE KEASON." f — Ekskine. 
But it seems this is an Age of Reason, and the 



* Sir J. Mackintosh. 

f The irony with which Erskine ridicules Paine's preten- 
sions to superior wisdom, in this speech, must be distinctly 
marked. This extract is therefore a good practice on Com- 
pound Inflection, (See Compound Inflections^ 



ORATORICAL EXTRACTS. 293 

time, and the person, are at last arrived, that are to 
dissipate the errors which have overspread the past 
generations of ignorance. The believers in Christi- 
anity are many, but it belongs to the few that are 
wise to correct their credulity. Belief is an act of 
reason, and superior reason may, therefore, dictate 
to the weak. In running the mind along the long 
list of sincere and devout Christians, I cannot help 
lamenting that Newton had not lived to this day, to 
have had his shallowness filled up with this new 
flood of light. 

But the subject is too awful for irony. — I will 
speak plainly and directly. Newton was a Christian! 
Newton, w T hose mind bust forth from the fetters 
fastened by Nature upon our finite conceptions — 
Newton, whose science was truth, and the founda- 
tion of whose knowledge of it was philosophy — 
not those visionary and arrogant presumptions 
which too often usurp its name, but philosophy 
resting on the basis of mathematics, which, like 
figures, cannot lie — Newton, who carried the line 
and rule to the uttermost barriers of creation, and 
explored the principles by w r hich all created matter 
exists and is held together. 

But this extraordinary man, in the mighty reach 
of his mind, overlooked, perhaps, the errors, which 
a minuter investigation of the created things on 
this earth might have taught him. What, then, 
shall be said of the great Mr. Boyle, — who looked 
into the organic structure of all matter, even to the 
inanimate substances which the foot treads upon ? — 
Such a man may be supposed to have been equally 
U 3 



294 APPENDIX. 

qualified with Mr. Paine, to look up through Na- 
ture to Nature's God ! Yet the result of all his 
contemplations was the most confirmed and devout 
belief in all which the other holds in contempt as 
despicable and drivelling superstition. 

But this error might, perhaps, arise from a want 
of due attention to the foundations of human judg- 
ment, and the structure of that understanding 
which God has given us for the investigation of 
truth. — Let that question be answered by Mr. 
Locke, who, to the highest pitch of devotion and 
adoration, was a Christian ! — Mr. Locke, whose 
office it was to detect the errors of thinking, by going 
up to the very fountain of thought ; and to direct 
into the proper tract of reasoning the devious mind 
of man, by showing him its whole process, from the 
first perceptions of sense, to the last conclusions of 
ratiocination: — putting a rein upon false opinion, by 
practical rules for the conduct of human judgment. 

But these men, it may be said, were only deep 
thinkers, and lived in their closets, unaccustomed 
to the traffic of the world, and to the laws which 
practically regulate mankind. — Gentlemen, in the 
place where we now sit to administer the justice of 
this great country, the never-to-be-forgotten Sir 
Mathew Hale presided ; — whose faith in Christi- 
anity is an exalted commentary upon its truth and 
reason, and whose life was a glorious example of 
its fruits: — whose justice, drawn from the pure 
fountain of the Christian dispensation, will be, in 
all ages, a subject of the highest reverence and ad- 
miration. 



ORATORICAL EXTRACTS. . 295 

But it is said by the author, that the Christian 
fable is but the tale of the more ancient supersti- 
tions of the world, and may be easily detected by a 
proper understanding of the mythologies of the 
Heathens. — Did Milton understand those mytholo- 
gies ? — was he less versed than Mr. Paine in the 
superstitions of the world ? No ; — they were the 
subject of his immortal song ; and, though shut out 
from all recurrence to them, he poured them forth 
from the stores of a memory rich with all that 
man ever knew, and laid them in their order as 
the illustration of a real and exalted faith ; — the 
unquestionable source of that fervid genius which 
has cast a kind of shade upon all the other works of 
man. 

He pass'd the bounds of flaming space, 
Where angels tremble while they gaze — 
He saw — till blasted with excess of light, 
He closed his eyes in endless night ! 

But it was the light of the body only, that was 
extinguished ; " the celestial light shone inward, 
and enabled him to justify the ways of God to 
man." — The result of his thinking was, neverthe- 
less, not quite the same as that of the author before 
us. The mysterious incarnation of our blessed 
Saviour (which this work blasphemes, in words so 
wholly unfit for the mouth of a Christian, and the 
ears of a court of justice, that I dare not, and will 
not give them utterance ) Milton made the grand 
conclusion of his Paradise Lost, the rest from his 
u 4 



296 APPENDIX. 

finished labours, and the ultimate hope, expectation, 
and glory of the world. 

A Virgin is his mother, but his Sire, 

The power of the Most High ; He shall ascend 

The throne hereditary, and hound his reign 

With earth's wide bounds, his glory with the heavens I 

Thus you find all that is great, or wise, or splen- 
did, or illustrious, amongst created beings — all the 
minds gifted beyond ordinary nature, if not in- 
spired by its universal Author, for the advancement 
and dignity of the world, — though divided by dis- 
tant ages, and by clashing opinions, yet joining, 
as it were, in one sublime chorus, to celebrate the 
truths of Christianity, and laying upon its holy 
altars the never-fading offerings of their immorxai 
wisdom. 



PERORATION OF LORD BKOUGHAM'S SPEECH 
ON PARLIAMENTARY REFORM, 1831. 

My Lords, I do not disguise the intense solici- 
tude which I feel for the event of this debate, 
because I know, full well, that the peace of the 
country is involved in the issue. I cannot look 
without dismay at the rejection of the measure. 
But, grievous as may be the consequences of a tem- 
porary defeat, — temporary it can only be, for its 
ultimate, and even speedy success is certain, — no- 
thing now can stop it. Do not suffer yourselves 
to be persuaded that, even if the present ministers 
were driven from the helm, any one could steer you 



ORATORICAL EXTRACTS. 297 

through the troubles which surround you, without 
reform. But our successors would take up the task 
under circumstances far less auspicious. Under 
them you would be fain to grant a bill, compared 
with which the one we now proffer you is moderate 
indeed. Hear the parable of the Sibyl ; for it 
contains a wise and wholesome moral. She now 
appears at your gate and offers you mildly the 
volumes — the precious volumes — of wisdom and 
peace. The price she asks is reasonable — to re- 
store the franchise ; which, without any bargain, 
you ought voluntarily to give : you refuse her 
terms — her moderate terms, — she darkens the porch 
no longer. But soon, for you cannot do without 
her wares, you call her back. Again she comes, 
but with diminished treasures ; -the leaves of the 
book are in part torn away by lawless hands, in 
part defaced with characters of blood. But the 
prophetic maid has risen in her demand : it is Par- 
liaments by the year — it is vote by the ballot — it 
is suffrage by the million ! From this you turn 
away indignant, and for the second time she departs. 
Beware of her third coming ; for the treasure you 
must have, and what price she may next demand 
who shall tell ? It may even be the mace which 
rests on that woolsack. What may follow your 
course of obstinacy, if persisted in, I cannot take 
upon me to predict ; nor do I wish to conjecture. 
But this I know full well, that, as sure as man 
is mortal, and to err is human, justice deferred 
enhances the price at which you must purchase 
safety and peace ; nor can you expect to gather in 



298 APPENDIX. 

another crop than they did who went before you, 
if you persevere in their utterly abominable hus- 
bandry of sowing injustice and reaping rebellion. 

But, among the awful considerations which now 
bow down my mind, there is one which stands pre- 
eminent above the rest. You are the highest judi- 
cature in the realm; } r ou sit here as judges, and 
decide all causes, civil and criminal, without appeal. 
It is a judge's first duty never to pronounce sentence 
in the most trifling cause without hearing. Will 
you make this the exception ? Are you really pre- 
pared to determine, but not to hear, the mighty 
cause upon which hang a nation's hopes and fears? 
You are ? Then beware of your decision ! Eouse 
not, I beseech you, a peace-loving, but a resolute 
people ; alienate not from your body the affections 
of a whole empire. As your friend, as the friend 
of my order, as the friend of my country, as the 
faithful servant of my Sovereign, I counsel you to 
assist with your uttermost efforts in preserving 
peace, and upholding and perpetuating the Consti- 
tution. Therefore I pray and exhort you not to 
reject this measure. By all you hold most dear — 
by all the ties that bind every one of us to our 
common order and our common country, I solemnly 
adjure you, — I warn you, — I implore you, — yea, 
on my bended knees I supplicate you, — reject not 
this bill ! 



299 



MISCELLANEOUS POETICAL EXTRACTS. 



THE PROGRESS OF POESY.— Gray, 

A PINDARIC ODE. 
I. 

Awake, iEolian lyre, awake, 
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings! 
From Helicon's harmonious springs, 

A thousand rills their mazy progress take; 
The laughing flowers that round them blow 
Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 
Now the rich stream of music winds along, 
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, 
Through verdant vales and Ceres'' golden reign : 
Now rushing down the steep amain, 
Headlong, impetuous see it pour; 
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar ! 

Oh! sovereign of the willing soul, 
Parent of sweet and solemn -breathing airs, 
Enchanting shell ! the sullen cares 

And frantic passions hear thy soft control. 
On Thracia's hills the lord of war 
Has curb'd the fury of his car, 
And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command: 
Perching on the sceptred hand 



300 AProDix. 

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king 
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing : 
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber, lie 
The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye. 

Tnee the voice, the dance obey, 

Temper' d to thy warbled lay ; 
O'er Idalia's velvet green 
The rosy-crowned loves are seen 

On Cytherea's day, 
With antic sports and blue-ey'd pleasures,. 
Frisking iighr. in frolic measures : 
Now pursuing, now retreating, 
Now in circling troops they meet; 
To brisk notes, in cadence beating, 
Glance their many-twinkling feet. 
Slow, melting strains their Queen's approach declare; • 
Where'er she turns the graces homage pay, 
With arts sublime, that float upon the air; 
In gliding state she wins her easy way: 
O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom, move 
The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Lcre. 

II. 

Man's feeble race what ills await, — 
Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, 
.Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, 

And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate! 
The fond complaint, my song, disprove, 
And justify the laws of Jove. 
Say, has he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Muse? 
Night, and all her sickly dews, 
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, 
He gives to range the dreary sky: 
Till down the eastern cliffs afar, 
Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 301 

In climes beyond the solar road, 
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 
The Muse has broke the twilight gloom 

To cheer the natives' dull abode. 
And oft, beneath the odorous shade 
Of Chili's boundless forests laid, 
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, 
In loose numbers wildly sweet, 
Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky loves. 
Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, 
Glory pursues, and generous shame, 
Th' unconquerable mind, and Freedom's holy flamo. 

"Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 

Isles that crown the JEgean deep, 
Fields, that cool Ilissus laves, 
Or where Mseander's amber waves 

In lingering labyrinths creep, 
How do your tuneful echoes languish, 
Mute, but to the voice of Anguish? 
Where each old poetic mountain 

Inspiration breath'd around, 
Every shade and hallow'd fountain 

Murmur' d deep a solemn sound: 
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, 

Left their Parnassus for the Latin plains; 
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, 

And coward Vice, that revels in her chains ; 
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, 
They sought, Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast, 

in. 

Far from the sun and summer-sale 
In thy green lap was Nature's darling* laid, 

* 8hakspeare. 



302 APPENDIX. 

What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, 

To him the mighty mother did unveil 
Her awful face; the dauntless child 
Stretch'd forth his little arms and smil'd. 
" This pencil take," she said, "whose colours clsar 
Bichly paint the vernal year : 
Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal boy! 
This can unlock the gates of joy; 
Of honor that, and thrilling fears, 
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." 

Nor second he*, that rode sublime 

Upon the seraph- wings of ecstacy, 

The secrets of th' abyss to spy. 
He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time; 
The living throne, the sapphire-blaze, 
Where angels tremble while they gaze, 
He saw; but blasted with excess of light, 
Closed his eyes in endless night ! 

Behold where Dry den's less presumptuous car 
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear 
Two coursers of ethereal race, 

Their necks in thunder cloth'd, and long resounding pace.f 
Hark, his hands the lyre explore! 
Bright-eyed Fancy hov'ring o'er, 
Scatters from her pictur'd urn 
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn! 
But ah ! 'tis heard no more — 
Oil lyre divine! what daring spirit 
Wakes thee now? Though he inherit 
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion 
That the Theban eagle bear, 

* Milton. 

f Expressive of the majestic sound of Dryden's verse. 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 303 

Sailing with supreme dominion 

Through the azure deep of air; 
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run 

Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray, 
With orient hues unborrow'd of the sun : 

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way 
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, — 
Beneath the good how far — but far above the great. 



THE CHARMS OF HOPE.— Campbell. 

At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow 
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, 
Why to yon mountains turns the musing eye, 
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky? 
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear 
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near? 
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 
Thus, with delight, we linger to survey 
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way; 
Thus, from afar, each dim- discovered scene 
More pleasing seems than all the past have been, 
And every form that Fancy can repair 
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. 

What potent spirit guides the raptured eye 
To pierce the shades of dim futurity? 
Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly power, 
The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour ? 
Ah, no ! she darkly sees the fate of man — 
Her dim horizon bounded to a span; 
Or, if she hold a pleasure to the view, 
'Tis Nature pictured too severely true. 
With thee, sweet Hope! resides the heavenly light, 
That pours remotest rapture on the sight : 



304 APPENDIX. 

Thine is the charm of life's bewilder'd way, 
That calls each slumbering passion into play. 
Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band, 
On tiptoe watching, start at thy command, 
And fly where'er thy mandate bids'them steer, 
To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career. 

Primeval Hope, the Aonian Muses say 
"When Man and Nature mourned their first decay,— 
"When every form of death, and every woe, 
Shot from malignant stars to earth below, — 
When Murder bared her arm, and rampant War 
Yoked the red dragons of his iron car, — 
When Peace and Mercy, banish'd from the plain. 
Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven again, — • 
All, all forsook the friendless, guilty mind, 
But Hope, the charmer, linger'd still behind ! 

Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare 
Prom Carmel's heights to sweep the fields of air, 
The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, 
Dropt on the world *-=■ a sacred gift to man ! 

Auspicious Hope ! in thy sweet garden grow 
Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe; 
Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour, 
The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower ; 
There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, 
What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring 1 

Angel of life ! thy glittering wings explore 
Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore: 
Lo ! to the wintry winds the pilot yields 
His bark, careering o'er unfathom'd fields; 
Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar, 
Where Andes, giant of the western star, 
With meteor- standard to tne winds unfurl'd, 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 805 

Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world ! 
Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles, 
On Bearing's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles ; 
Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, 
From wastes that slumber in eternal snow ; 
And waft, across the wave's tumultuous roar, 
The wolfs long howl from Oonalaska's shore. 
Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, 
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form ! 
Rocks, waves, and winds, the shatter 'd bark delay; 
Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away. 

But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep, 
And sing to charm the spirit of the deep: 
Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, 
Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul j 
His native hills, that rise in happier climes, 
The grot that heard his song of other times, 
His cottage home, his bark of slender sail, 
His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossom'd vale, 
Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind, 
Treads the lov'd shore he sigh'd to leave behind; 
Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, 
And flies at last to Helen's long embrace; 
"Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear, 
And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear! 
While, long neglected, but at length caress'd, 
His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest, 
Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam) 
His wistful face, and whines a welcome home. 

Priend of the brave! in peril's darkest hour 
Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power; 
To thee the heart its trembling homage yields, 
On stormy floods, and carnage-cover'd fields: 
"When front to front the banner'd hosts combine, 
Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line: 
X 



306 APPENDIX. 

When all is still on Death's devoted soil, 
The march- worn soldier mingles for the toil: 
As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high 
The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye, 
Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come, 
And hears thy stormy music in the drum ! 



LADY HERON'S SONG. — Scott. 

Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 

Thro' all the wide border his steed was the best, 

And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none, 

He rode all unarm' d, and he rode all alone ! 

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar! 

He stay'd not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, 

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; — 

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate 

Tlrs bride had consented, — the gallant came late: 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

"Was to wed the fair Ellen of young Lochinvar ! 

So, boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 
Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and alls- 
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word !) 
" Oh ! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? " 

" I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied : 
Love swells like the Solway — but ebbs like its tide : 
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine ! 
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar X" 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 307 

The^bride kiss'd the goblet, — the knight took it up, — 
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She look'd down to blush, — and she look'd up to sigh — 
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye ! 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar — 
" Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely his face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume: 

And the bride-maidens whisper'd, '"Twere better by far, 

To have match' d our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear 

When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near; 

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 

" She is won ! we are gone — over bank, bush, and scaur, — 

They'll have swift steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Grammes of the Netherby clan, 

Eorsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ; 

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. — 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar I 



ST. PETER'S AT ROME — THE VATIC AN. — Byron. 

But lo ! the dome — the vast and wondrous dome, 
To which Diana's marvel was a cell — 
Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb ! 
I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle — 
Its columns strew the wilderness; and dwell 
x 2 



308 APPENDIX. 

The hydra and the jackal in their shade; 
I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell 
Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd 
Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd; 

But thou, of temples old, or altars new, 
Srandest alone, — with nothing like to thee, — 
Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. 
Since £ion's desolation, when that He 
Forsook his former city, what could be 
Of earthly structures, in his honour piled, 
Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, 
Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled 
In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. 

Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; 
And why? It is not lessen'd; but thy mind, 
Expanded by the genius of the spot, 
Has grown colossal, and can only find 
A fit abode, wherein appear enshrined 
Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou 
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined 
See thy God face to face, as thou dost now 
His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. 

Thou movest — but increasing with the advance, 
Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, — 
Deceived by its gigantic elegance; 
Vastness which grows, but grows to harmonise — 
All musical in its immensities ; 

Rich marbles — richer paintings — shrines where flame 
The lamps of gold — and haughty dome which vies 
In air with Earth's chief structures, though their frame 
Sits on the firm-set ground — and this the clouds must claim. 

Thou seest not all ; but piecemeal thou must break, 
To separate contemplation, the great whole; 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 309 

And as the Ocean many bays will make, 
That ask the eye — so here condense thy soul 
To more immediate objects, and control 
Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart 
Its eloquent proportions, and unroll 
In mighty graduations, part by part, 
The glory which at once upon thee did not dart,— 

Not by its fault, but thine : Our outward sense 
Is but of gradual grasp ; and as it is 
That what we have of feeling most intense 
Outstrips our faint expression, even so this 
Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice 
!Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great 
Defies at first our nature's littleness, 
Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate 
Our spirits to the size of what they contemplate. 

Then pause and be enlighten'd ; there is more 
In such a survey than the sating gaze 
Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore 
The worship of the place, or the mere praise 
Of art and its great masters, who could raise 
What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan ; 
The fountain of sublimity displays 
Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man 
Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. 

Or, turning to the Vatican, go see 
Laoco on's torture dignifying pain — 
A father's love, and mortal's agony, 
With an immortal's patience blending : — Yain 
The struggle ; vain, against the coiling strain 
And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, 
The old man's clench : the long, envenom'd chain 
Rivets the living links ; the enormous asp 
Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. 
X 3 



310 . APPENDIX. 

Or, view the Lord of the unerring bow, 
The god of life, and poesy, and light — 
The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow 
All radiant from his triumph in the fight: 
The shaft hath just been shot — the arrow bright 
With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye 
And nostril, beautiful disdain, and might, 
And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, 
Developing in that one glance the deity 1 



THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.*— Pofr 

Vital spark of heav'nly flame, 
Quit, oh ! quit this mortal frame ! 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, — 
O the pain — the bliss of dying ! 
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, 
And let me languish into life I 

Hark ! they whisper ; angels say, — 
" Sister spirit, come away ! " 
What is this absorbs me quite, — 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? — 
Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? 

The world recedes, it disappears, 
Heav'n opens on my eyes, — my ears 



* The difficulty of delivering this exquisite little piece with 
proper effect, is that of preserving the feeble and failing tone 
of the dying man, and yet conveying the enthusiastic con- 
fidence of the-hopeful Christian. The reader must bear in 
mind these two phases of expression. 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 311 

With sounds seraphic ring ! 

Lend, lend your wings ! I mount, I fly ! 

death, where is thy sting, — 

O grave, where is thy victory ? 



SAUL.— Byron. 

I. 

" Thou whose spell can raise the dead, 

Bid the prophet's form appear." — 
" Samuel, raise thy buried head ! 
King, behold the phantom seer !" 

Earth yawn'd ; he stood, the centre of a cloud ; 

Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud. 

Death sfood ail glassy in his fixed eye ; 

His hand was wirher'd, and his veins were dry; 

His foot, in bony whiteness glitter* d there, 

Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare ; 

From lips that moved not, and unbreathing frame, 

Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents came. 

Saul «aw, and fell to earth ; — as falls the oak, 

At once, and blasted by the thunder -stroke ! 

II. 

" Why is my sleep disquieted? 
Who is he that calls the dead ? 
Is it thou, O king ? Behold, 
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold : 
Such are mine: and such shall be 
Thine to-morrow, when with me : 
Ere the coming day be done, 
Such shalt thou be, such thy son ! 
Eare thee well ! but for a day ; 
Then we mix our mouldering clay; 
x 4 



312 APPENDIX. 

Then thy race lie pale and low, 
Pierced by shafts of many a bow; 
And the falchion by thy side 
To thy heart thy hand shall guide j 
Crownless, breathless, headless, fall — 
Son and sire — the house of Saul ! " 



MODERN GREECE.— Byron- 

He who hath bent him o'er the dead, 
Ere the first day of death is fled, 
The first dark day of nothingness, 
The last of danger and distress — 
Before Decay's effacing fingers 
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers - 
And mark'd the mild, angelic air, 
The rapture of repose that's there, 
The fix'd yet tender traits that streak 
The languor of the placid cheek, 
And — but for that sad shrouded eye, 
That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,- 
And, but for that chill, changeless brow, 
Where cold Obstruction's apathy 
Appals the gazing mourner's heart, 
As if to him it could impart 
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon : — 
Yes, but for these, and these alone, • 
Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour, 
He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; 
So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd, 
The first, last look by death reveal'd ! 
Such is the aspect of this shore ; 
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more ! 
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
We start, for soul is wanting there. 



POETICAL EXTRACTS* 313 

Her's is the loveliness in death, 

That parts not quite with parting breath j 

But beauty with that fearful bloom, 

That hue which haunts it to the tomb, 

Expression's last receding ray, 

A gilded halo hovering round decay, 

The farewell beam of feeling past away, — 
Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, 
Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish' d earth! 

Clime of the unforgotten brajw ! 
Whose land, from plain 10 n ci.nfr in cave, 
Was Freedom's home, or Glory's grave, — 

Shrine of the mighty ! can it be, 

That this is all remains of thee ? 
Approach, thou craven, crouching slave: 

Say, is not this Thermopylae ? 
These waters blue that round you lave, — ■ 

Oh servile offspring of the free — 
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ?— • 

The gulf, the rock of Salamis. 



These scenes, their story not unknown, 
Arise, and make again your own; 
Snatch from the ashes of your sires 
The embers of their former fires : 
And he who in the strife expires, 
Will add to theirs a name of fear, 
That tyranny shall quake to hear; 
And leave his sons a hope, a fame, 
They too will rather die than shame: 
For, Freedom's battle once begun, 
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, 
Though baffled oft, is ever Avon. 
Bear witness, Greece, thy living page 
Attest it many a deathless age ! 



311 APPENDIX. 

While king?, in dusty darkness hid, 
Have left a nameless pyramid, 
Thy heroes, though the general doom 
Hath swept the column from their tomb, 
A mightier monument command, — 
The mountains of their native land ! 



A POETESS'S PICTURE OF A COUNTRY LIFE. 
Joanna Baillie. 

Ev'n now, methinks, 
Each little cottage of my native vale 
Swells out its earthen sides, upheaves its roof, 
Like to a hillock moved by labouring mole, 
And with green trail-weeds clambering up its walls, 
Roses, and every gay and fragrant plant, 
B j fore mv fancy stands a fairy bower; 
Aye, and within it, too, do fairies dwell. 
Peep through its wreathed window, if, indeed, 
The flowers grow not too close; and there within, 
Thou'lt see some half a dozen rosy brats, 
Eating from wooden bowls their dainty milk — 
Those are my mountain elves, Seest thou not 
Their very forms distinctly ? — ■ 

I'll gather round my board 
All that heav'n sends to me of way worn folks, 
And noble travellers and neighbouring friends, 
Both young and old. Within my ample hall 
The worn-out man of arms shall o' tip- toe tread, 
Tossing his gray locks from, his wrinkled brow 
With cheerful freedom, as he boasts his feats 
Of days gone by. Music we'll have, and oft 
The bickering dance upon our oaken floors 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 315 

Shall, thundering loud, strike on the distant ear 

Of 'nighted travellers, who shall gladly bend 

Their doubtful footsteps towards the cheering din. 

Solemn, and grave, and cloister'd and demure, 

We shall not be : but every season 

Shall have its suited pastime : even winter, 

In its deep noon, when mountains piled with snow, 

And choked-up valleys, to our mansion bar 

All entrance, and nor guest nor traveller 

Sounds at our gate, the empty hall forsaken, 

In some warm chamber by the crackling fire 

We'll hold our little,, snug, domestic court, 

Plying our work with song and tale between. 



BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.— F. Hemans. 

The warrior bow'd his crested head, and tamed his heart of 

fire, 
And sued the haughty king to free his long imprison'd sire ; 
"I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train, 
I bring thee faith, my liege, my lord ! — oh, break my father's 

chain ! " 

" Rise, rise ! ev'n now thy father comes, a ransom' d man this 

day, 
Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will meet him on his 

way." 
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, 
And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy 

speed. 

And lo ! from far, as on they press'd, there came a glittering 

band, 
With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the 

laod ; 



316 APPENDIX. 

" Now haste, Bernardo, haste ! for there in very truth is he, 
The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearn'd so long to 
see." 

His dark eye flash'd, his proud breast heav'd, his cheek's 
blood came and went ; 

He reach'd that grey-hair' d chieftain's side, and there dis- 
mounting bent ; 

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took, — 

What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook ? 

That hand was cold — a frozen thing — it dropp'd from his 

like lead, — 
He look'd up to the face above, — the face was of the dead ! 
A plume wav'd o'er the noble brow, the brow was fix'd and 

white ; 
He met at last his father's eyes, — but in them was no sight ! 

Up from the ground he sprung, and gaz'd, but who could 

paint that gaze ? 
They hush'd their very hearts that saw its horror and amaze ; . 
They might have chain'd him, as before that stony form he 

stood, 
For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip 

the blood, 

" Father ! " at length, he murmur'd low, and wept like child- 
hood then : — 

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike 
men ! 

He thought on all his glorious hopes, on all his young re- 
nown, 

He flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. 

Then covering with his steel-glov'd hands his darkly 
mournful brow, 
No more, there is no more," he said, " to lift the sword for 
now — 



'POETICAL EXTRACTS. 317 

My king is false, my hope betray 'd, my father — oh ! the 

the worth, 
The glory, and the loveliness, are pass'd away from earth ! 

" 1 thought to stand where banners wav'd, my sire ! beside 

thee yet, 
I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had 

met ; 
Thou wouldst have known my spirit then, — for thee my fields 

were won, 
And thou hast perished in thy chains, as if thou hadst no 

son." 

Then starting from the ground once more, he seized the mon- 
arch's rein, 

Amidst the pale and wilder'd looks of all the courtier train ; 

And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the raging war-horse 
led, 

And sternly set tliem face to face, — the king before the dead! 

" Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to 

kiss ? 
Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and tell me what is 

this ? 
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought — give answer, where 

are they ? 
If thou wouldst clear thy perjur'd soul, send life through this 

cold clay ? 

" Into these glassy eyes put light, — be still ! keep down thine 

ire 
Bid these white lips a blessing speak — this earth is not my 

sire ! 
Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was 

etosd, 
Thou canst not— and a king ? His dust be mountains on 

thy head!" 



318 APPENDIX. 

He loos'd the steed ; his slack hand fell ; — upon the silent 

face 
He cast one long, deep, troubled look, — then turn'd from that 

sad place : 
His hope was crush'd, his after-fate untold in martial 

strain, 
His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain ! 



THE VOICE OF THE GRAVE. — Montgomery. 



There is a calm for those who weep, 

A rest for weary pilgrims found; 
They softly lie and sweetly sleep 
Low in the ground. 

The storm that wrecks the winter sky 
No more disturbs their deep repose, 
Than summer's evening's latest sigh 
That shuts the rose. 

I long to lay this painful head 

And aching heart beneath the soil, 
To slumber in that dreamless bed 
Erom all my toil. 

Eor Misery stole me at my birth, 

And cast me helpless on the wild: 
I perish : O, my mother Earth, 
Take home thy child! 

On thy dear lap, these limbs, reclined, 

Shall gently moulder into thee, 
Nor leave one wretched trace behind 
Resembling me. 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 819 

Hark ! a strange sound affrights mine ear; 

My pulse, my brain runs wild — I rave : 
Ah! who art thou whose voice I hear ? 
"I am the Grave ! 

" The Grave, that never spoke before, 

Hath found, at length, a tongue to chide; 
O listen! I will speak no more : 
Be silent, Pride ! 

" Art thou a wretch of hope forlorn. 

The victim of consuming care ; 
Is thy distracted conscience torn 

By fell Despair ? — - 

" Do foci misdeeds of former times 

Wring with remorse thy guilty breast; 
And ghosts of unforgiven crimes 
Murder thy rest ? — 

"Lashed by the furies of the mind, 

Erom wrath and vengeance wouldst thou flee ? — 
Ah ! think not, hope not, fool ! to find 
A friend in me. 

" By all the terrors of the tomb ? 

Beyond the power of tongue to tell ; — 
By the dread secrets of my womb, 
By death and hell,— 

" I charge thee live ! repent and pray ; 

In dust thine infamy deplore ; 
There yet is mercy ; go thy way, 
And sin no more ! 

" Art thou a mourner ? Hast thou known 

The joy of innocent delights ; 
Endearing days for ever flown 
And tranquil nights ?— 



320 APPENDIX. 

" O live ! and deeply cherish still 

The sweet remembrance of the past : 
Rely on Heaven's unchanging will 
For peace at last. 

" Art thou a wanderer ? Hast thou seen 

Overwhelming tempests drown thy bark 5- 
A shipwreck'd sufferer, hast thoii been 
Misfortune's mark ? — 

" Tho' long of winds and waves the sport. 
Condemned in wretchedness to roam; — 
Live! thou shalt reach a sheltering port, 
A quiet home. 

" To friendship didst thou trust thy fame; 

And was thy friend a deadly foe, 
Who stole into thy heart to aim 
A surer blow ? — 

" Live ! and repine not o'er his loss, — 

A loss unworthy to be told : 
Thou hast mistaken sordid dross 
For friendship's gold. 

" Go seek that treasure, seldom found, 
Of power the fiercest griefs to calm, 
And soothe the bosom's deepest wound 
With heavenly balm ! 

" Whate'er thy lot, whoe'er thou be, 

Confess thy folly, kiss the rod, 
And in thy chastening sorrows see 
The hand of God. 

" A bruised reed He will not break ; 

Afflictions all his children feel ; 
He wounds them for his mercy's sake % 
He wounds to heal. 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 321 

" Humbled beneath his mighty hand, 
Prostrate his providence adore : 
Tis done ! — Arise ! He bids thee stand, 
To fall no more." 

Now, traveller in the vale of tears, 

To realms of everlasting light, 
Through time's dark wilderness of years 
Pursue thy flight. 

There is a calm for those who weep, 
A rest for weary pilgrims found ; 
And while the mould'ring ashes sleep 
Low in the ground, — 

The soul, of origin divine, — 

God's glorious image freed from clay, — 
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine, 
A star of day ! 

The sun is but a spark of fire, 

A transient meteor in the sky ; 
The soul, immortal as its Sire, 
Shall never die ! 



TEN YEARS AGO.— A. A. Watts. 

Ten years ago, ten years ago, 

Life was to us a fairy scene ; 
And the keen blasts of worldly woe 

Had seared not then its pathway green. 
Youth, and its thousand dreams were ours,- 

Eeelings we ne'er can know again ; 
Unwither'd hopes, unwasted powers, 

And frames unworn by mortal pain. 
Such was the bright and genial flow 
Of iife with us — ten years ago ! 
Y 



322 APPENDIX. 

Time has not blanched a single hair 

That clusters round thy forehead now ; 
Nor hath the cankering touch of care 

Left ev'n one furrow on thy brow. 
Thine eyes are blue as when we met, 

In love's deep truth, in earlier years ; 
Thy cheek of rose is blooming yet, 

Though sometimes stained by secret tears; — 
But where, oh where's the spirit's glow 
That shone through ail — ten years ago ? 

I, too, am changed, — I scarce know why- 
Can feel each nagging pulse decay ; 

And youth, and health, and visions high, 
Melt like a wreath of snow away : 

Time cannot sure have wrought the ill ; 

Though worn in this world's sickening strife, 

In soul and form, I linger still 
In the first summer morn of life ; 

Yet journey on my path below, 

Oh ! how unlike — ten years ago ! 

But look not thus ; I would not give 

The wreck of hopes that thou must share, 
To bid those joyous hours revive 

When all around me seem'd so fair. 
We've wander'd on in sunny weather, 

When winds were low, and flowers in blooia, 
And hand in hand we've kept together ; 

And still we keep, 'mid storm and gloom; 
Endeared by ties we could not know 
When life was young — ten years ago ! 

Has fortune frowned ? — Her frowns were vain ; 

For hearts like ours she could not chill : 
Have friends proved false ? — Their love might wane, 

But ours grew fonder, firmer still. 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 8 

Twin barks on this world's changing wave, 
Steadfast in calms, in tempests tried, 

In cod cert still our fate we'll brave, 
Together cleave life's fitful tide ; 

Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow, 

Youth's first wild dreams — ten years ago ! 

Have we not knelt beside his bed, 

And watched our first-born blossom die ?— 
Hoped, till the shade of hope had fled, 

Then wept till feeling's fount was dry ? 
Was it not sweet, in that dark hour, 

To think, mid mutual tears and sighs, 
Our bud had left its early bower, 

And burst to bloom in Paradise ? 
What to the thought that soothed that woe 
Were heartless joys— ten years ago ! 

Yes, it is sweet, when heaven is bright, 

To share its sunny beams with thee ; 
But sweeter far, mid clouds and blight, 

To have thee near to weep with me. 
Then dry those tears — though something changed 

From what we were in earlier youth, 
Time, that hath hopes and friends estranged, 

Hath left us love in all its truth ; — 
Sweet feelings we would not forego, 
For life's best joy's — ten years ago ! 



HALLOWED GKOUND.— Campbell. 

What's hallowed ground ? Has earth a clod 
Its Maker meant not should be trod 
By man, the image oi ins God, 
Erect and free, 

T 2 



324 APPENDIX, 

Unscoursred by Superstition's rod 
To bow the knee? 

That's hallow'd ground where, mourned and missd, 
The lips repose our love has kiss'd ; — 
But w here's their memory's mansion? Is't 

Yon churchyard's bowers ? 
No ! in ourselves their souls exist, 

A part of ours ! 

A kiss can consecrate the ground 
"Where mated hearts are mutual bound. — 
The spot where love's first links were wound, 

That ne'er are riven, 
Is hallow'd down to earth's profound, 

And up to heaven ! 

For time makes all but true love old ! 
The burning thoughts that then were told 
Hun molten still in memory's mould, 

And will not cool 
Until the heart itself be cold 

In Lethe's pool. 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap ! 
In dews that heavens far distant weep 

Their turf may bloom ; 
Or genii xwine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb. 

But strew Ms ashes to the wind. 

Whose sword or voice has serv'd mankind; 

And h he dead whose glorious .mind 

Lifts thine on high? 
To live in hearts we leave behind 

Is not to die I 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 825 

Is't death to fall for freedom's right ? 
He's dead alone that lacks -her light ; 
And murder sallies, in Heavens signt, 

The sword he draws. 
What can alone ennoble light? 

A noble cause I 

Give that ! and welcome war to brace 

Her drums, and rend heaven's reeking space ; 

The colours planted face to face, 

The charging cheer, 
Though death's pale horse lead on the chase, 

Shall still be dear ! 

And place our trophies where men kneel 
To Heaven ! — but Heaven rebukes my zeal : 
The cause of truth and human weal, 

O God above ! 
Transfer it from the sword's appeal, 

To peace and love ! 

Peace ! Love ! the cherubim that join 
Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine; 
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine, 

Where they are not ! 
The heart alone can make divine 

Religion's spot. 

To incantations dost thou trust, 
And pompous rites in domes august? 
See, mouldering stones and metal's rust 

Belie the vaunt, 
That men can bless one pile of dust 

With chime or chaunt. 

The ticking wood- worm mocks thee, man f 
Thy temples, — creeds themselves grow wan \ 
Y 3 



5 APPENDIX, 

But there's «* dome of nobler span* 
A temple <.»;iven — 

Thy faith, tnat bigots dare not bans- 
Its space is heaven ! 

Its roof star-pictured nature's ceiling, 
Where, trancing the rapt spirit's feeling, 
And, God Himself to man revealing, 

The harmonious spheres 
Make music, though unheard their pealing 

By mortal ears. 

Fair stars ! are not your beings pure? 
Can sin, can death, your worlds obscure? 
Else, why so swell the thoughts at your 

Aspect above ? 
Ye must be heavens that make us sure 

Of heavenly love ! 

And in your harmony sublime, 
I read the doom of distant time ; 
That man's regenerate soul from crime 

Shall yet be drawn, 
And reason on his mortal clime 

Immortal dawn ! 

What's hallow'd ground? 'Tis what gives birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! 
Peace ! Independence ! Truth ! Go forth, 

Earth's compass round ; 
And your high priesthood shall make earth 

All haiiow'd ground ! 



THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS.--L. Hunt. 

King Franks was a hearty king, and lov'd a royal sport, 
And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court ; 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 5'27 

The nobles filPd the benches round, the ladies by their side, 
And 'monger them sat the Count de Lorge, wiiJi one for 

whom he sigh'cl: 
And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, 
Valour and love, and a king above, and the royal hearts 

below. 

Kamp'd and roar'd the lions, with horrid laughing jaws ; 
They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went 

with their paws : 
With wallowing might and stifled roar, they roll'd on one 

another, 
Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thund'rous 

smoother ; 
The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing thro' the air ; 
Said Francis then, " Faith ! gentlemen, we're better here than 

there !" 

De Lorge's love o'er-heard the king, a beauteous lively dame, 
With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seem'd 

the same ; 
She thought, — The Count my lover is brave as brave can 

be— 
He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me: 
Kings, ladies, lovers, all look on ; the occasion is divine ! 
I'll drop my glove, to prove his love ; great glory will be 

mine ! 

She dropp'd her glove, to prove his love, then look'd at him 

and smil'd ; 
He bow'd, and in a moment leap'd among the lions wild. 
The leap was quick, return was quick — he has regain'd the 

place. — 
Then llirew the glove— but not with love — right in the lady's 

face. 
" By heaven !" cried Francis, " rightly done !" and he rose 

from where he sat : 
" No love," quoth he, •• but vanity, sets love a task like that !" 

Y 4 



228 APPENDIX. 

/ 

PATIENCE AND HOPE. — Bulges. 

Upon a barren steep, 

Above a stormy deep, 
I saw an angel watching the wild sea ; 

Earth was that barren steep, 

Time was that stormy deep, 
And the opposing shore — Eternity ! 

" Why dost thou watch the wave ? 

Thy feet the waters lave, 
The tide engulphs thee, if thou do remain." 

" Unscath'd I watch the wave ; — 

Time not the angel's grave, — 
I wait until the waters ebb again." 

Hush'd on the angel's breast 

I saw an infant rest, 
Smiling on the gloomy hell below. 

" What is the infant prest, 

O angel, to thy breast ? " 
" The child God gave me in the long ago ! 

" Mine all upon the earth — 

The angel's angel birth, 
Smiling all terror from the howling wild !" — 

Never may I forget 

The dream that haunts me yet 
Of Patience nursing Hope — the Angel and the Child ! 



ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.- 
Leigh Hunt. 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace. 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 329 

And saw within the moonlight in his room, 
Making it rich, and like a lily bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold. 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold ; 
And to the presence in the room he said — 
" What writest thou ?" The vision rais'd its head, 
And with a look made of all sweet accord, 
Answer'd, " The names of those who love the Lord 1" 
" And is mine one ? " said Abou. " Nay, not so ;" 
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerly still ; and said, " I pray thee then 
Writes me as one that loves my fellow men." 

The angel wrote and vanish'd. The next night 
It came again, with a great wakening light, 
And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd ; 
And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 



COXCOMBRY IN CONVERSATION.— Co wtee. 

The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose, 

In contact inconvenient, nose to nose, 

As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz, 

Touch'd with a magnet, had attracted his. 

His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large, 

Proves, after all, a wind-gun's airy charge, — 

An extract of his diary, — no more, — 

A tasteless journal of the day before. 

fie walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain, 

CalPd on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again, 

Resumed his purpose, had a world of talk 

With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. 

I interrupt him with a sudden bow, — 

" Adieu, dear sir ! lest you should lose it now." 

I cannot talk with civet in the room, — 
A fine puss gentleman, that's all perfume : 



020 APPENDIX. 

His odoriferous attempts to please, 

Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees j 

But we that make no honey, though we sting,— 

Poets,— are sometimes apt to maul the thing. 

A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see, 

Quite as absurd, though not so light as he ; 

A shallow brain behind a serious mask, 

An oracle within an empty cask, 

The solemn fop ; — significant and budge, 

A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge ; 

He says but little, and that little said 

Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. 

His wit invites you, by his looks, to come ; 

But when you knock, it never is at home : 

'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage, 

Some handsome present, as your hopes presage ; 

'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove 

An absent friend's fidelity and love, — 

But when unpack'd, your disappointment groans, 

To find it stufF'd with brickbats, earth, and stones. 



YESTERDAY.— Tupper. 

Speak, poor almsman of to-day, whom none can assure of a 
to-morrow, 

Tell out with honest heart the price thou settest upon 
yesterday. 

Is it then a writing in the dust, traced by the finger of Idle- 
ness, 

Which Industry, clean housewife, can wipe away for ever ? 

Is it as a farrow on the sand, fashion'd by the toying waves, 

Quickly to be trampled then again by the feet of the returning 
tide? 

Is it as the pale blue smoke, rising from a peasant's horel, 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 331 

That melted into limpid air, before it topp'd the larches ? 
Is it but a vision, unstable and unreal, which wise men soon 

forget ? 
Is it as the stranger of the night, — gone, we heed not 

whither ? 
Alas ! thou foolish heart, whose thoughts are but as these, 
Alas ! deluded soul, that hopeth thus of yesterday I 

For, behold — those temples of Ellora, the Brahmin's rock- 
built shrine, 

Behold — yon granite cliff, which the North Sea buffeteth in 
vain, 

That stout old forest fir — these waking verities of life, 

This guest abiding ever, not strange, nor a servant, but a 
son, — 

Such, man, are vanity and dreams, transient as a rainbow 
on the cloud, 

Weigh'd against that solid fact, thine ill-remember'd yester- 
day. 

Come, let me show thee an ensample, where Nature shall in- 
struct us. 

Luxuriantly the arguments for Truth spring native in her 
gardens ; 

Seek we yonder woodman of the plain ; he is measuring his 
axe to the elm, 

And anon the sturdy strokes ring upon the wintry air ; 

Eagerly the village school-boys cluster on the tighten'd rope 

Shouting, and bending to the pull, or lifted from the ground 
elastic ; 

The huge tree boweth like Sisera boweth to its foes with 
faintness, 

Its sinews crack, — deep groans declare the reeling anguish of 
Goliath ; 

The wedge is driven home, — and the saw is at its heart, and 
lo ! with solemn slowness, 

The shuddering monarch riseth from his throne,— toppled 
with a crash, — and is fallen J 



332 APPENDIX. 

Now shall the mangled stump teach proud man a lesson ; 

Now can we from that elm-tree's sap distil the wine of Truth. 

Heed ye those hundred rings, concentric from the core, 

Eddying in various waves to the red bark's shore-like rim? 

These be the "gatherings of yesterday, present all to-day, 

This is the tree's judgment, — self-history that cannot be gain- 
said. 

Seven years agone there was a drought, — and the seventh ring 
is narrow'd, 

The fifth from hence was a half deluge, — the fifth is cellular 
and l.road ; — 

Thus, Man, thou art a result of the growth of many yester- 
days, 

That stamp thy secret soul with growth of weal or woe ; 

Thou art an almanac of self, the living record of thy deeds ; 

Spirit has its scars as well as body, sore and aching in their 
season : 

Here is a knot, — it was a crime ; there is a canker,— selfish- 
ness ; 

Lo, here the heart-wood rotten ; — lo, there, perchance, the 
sap-wood sound ; 

Nature teacheth not in vain ; thy works are in thee, of thee ; 

Some present evil bent hath grown of older errors. 

And what if thou be walking now uprightly ? Salve not thy 
wounds with poison, 

As if a petty goodness of to-day hath blotted out the sin of 
yesterday. 

It is well thou hast life and light ; and the Hewer showeth 
mercy, 

Dressing the root, pruning the branch, and looking for thy 
tardy fruits ; 

But even here, as thou standest, cheerful belike and careless, 

The stains of ancient evil are upon thee, the record of thy 
wrong is in thee ; 

For, a curse of many yesterdays is thine, many yesterdays of 
sin, 

That, haply little heeded now, shall blast thy many morrows. 



POETICAL EXTRACTS, 833 

Shall then a man reck nothing, but hurl mad defiance at his 

Judge, 
Knowing that less than Omnipotent cannot make the has 

been not been ? 
He ought, so Satan spake ; he must, so Atheism urgeth ; 
He may, it was the libertine's thought ; he doth, — the bad 

world said it. 
But thou of humbler heart, thou student wiser for simplicity, 
While Nature warneth thee betimes, heed the loving counsel 

of Religion. 
True, this change is good, and penitence most precious ; 
But trust not thou thy change ; nor rest upon repentance ; 
For we all arc corrupted at the core, smooth as our surface 

seemeth ; 
What health can bloom in a beautiful skin, when rottenness 

hath fed upon the bones ? 
And guilt is parcel of us all ; not thou, sweet nursling of 

affection, 
Art spotless, though so passing fair, nor thou, wild patriarch 

of virtue ; 
Behold then the better tree of Life, free unto us all for 

grafting, 
Cut thee from the hollow root of self, to be budded on a richer 

vine. 
Be desperate, O man, as of evil so of good; tear that tunic 

from thee; 
The past can never be retriev'd, be the present what it may. 
Vain is the penance and the scourge, vain the fast and vigil! 
The fencer's cautious skill to-day, can this erase his scars? 
It is man's to famish as a faquir, it is man's to die a devotee ; 
Light is the torture and the toil, balanced with the wages of 

Eternity: 
But, it is God's to yearn in love on the humblest, the poorest, 

and the worst; 
For he has giv'n freely, as a King, asking only thanks for 

mercy. 
Look upon this noble-hearted Substitute; seeing thy woes, he 

pitied thee; 



334 APPENDIX, 

Bow'd beneath the mountain of thy sin and perish'd, — hit 

for God-head. 
There stood the Atlas in his power, and Prometheus in his 

love is there, 
Emptying, on wretched man, the blessings earn'd from heav'n. 
Put them not away — hide them in thy breast, poor and peni- 
tent receiver; 
Be gratitude thy counsellor to good, and wholesome fear unto 

obedience r 
Remember the pruning knife is keen, cutting cankers even 

from the vine ; 
Bemember, twelve were chosen, and one among them liveth in 

perdition. 
Yea, — for standing unatoned, the soul is a bison on the prairie, 
Hunted by those trooping wolves the many sinful yesterdays: 
And it speedeth a terrified Deucalion, flinging back the pebble 

in his flight, — 
The pebble that must add one more to those pursuing ghosts, 
O man ? there is a storm behind, should drive in thy bark to 

haven : 
The foe, the foe, is on thy track, patient, certain and avenging j 
Day by day, solemnly and silently followeth the fearful 

past, — 
His step is lame but sure-, for he catcheth the present in 

eternity: 
And how to escape that foe, the present -past in future? 
How to avert that fate, living consequence of causes un- 

existent ? 
Boldly we must overleap his birth, and date above his 

memories, 
Grafted on the living Tree that was before a yesterday \ 
No refuge of a younger birth than one that saw creation, 
Can hide the child of time from still condemning yesterday. 
There is the Sanctuary- city, mocking at the wrath of thine 

Avenger, 
Close at hand, with its wicket on the latch; haste for thylife ? 
poor hunted one! 



POETICAL EXTRACTS. 335 

The gladiator, Guilt, fight eth as of old, armed with net and 

aagger, 
Snaring in the mesh of yesterdays, stabbing with the poniard 

of t^-day ; 
Fly, thy sword is broken at the hilt; fly, thy shield is shiver'd; 
Leap the barriers and baffle him ; the arena of the past is his. 
The bounds of guilt are the cycles of time; thou muse be safe 

within Eternity; 
The arms of God alone shall rescue thee from yesterday. 



A POET'S PARTING THOUGHT.*— Motherwell. 

When I beneath the cold red earth am sleeping, 

TLKc'S) fever o'er, 
Will there for me be any bright eye weeping 

That I am no more? 
Will there be any heart still memory keeping 

Of heretofore? 

When the great winds, through leafless forests rushing, 

bui muski ma&e; — 
When the swollen streams, oxi ciag azitf gully gushing, 

Like full hearts break, — 
Will there then one, whose heart despair is crushing, 

Mourn for my sake? 

When the bright sun upon that spot is shining, 
With purest ray, 



* These lines of Motherwell — so touching in their simple 
pathos, and so unselfish. in the calm resignation of their close 
— were given to a friend by the author a day or two before 
his decease. 



336 APPENDIX. 

And the small flowers, their buds and blossoms twining, 

Burst through that clay. — 
Will there be one still on that spot repining 

Lost hopes all day? 

When no star twinkles with its eye of glory 

On that low mound, 
And wintry storms have, with their ruins hoary, 

Its loneness crowu'd, 
Will there be then one, vers'd in misery's story, 

Pacing it round? — 

It may be so, — but this is selfish sorrow 

To ask such meed, — 
A weakness and a wickedness to borrow, 

From hearts that bleed, 
The wailings of to-day for what to-morrow 

Shall never need. 

Lay me then gently in my narrow dwelling. 

Thou gentle heart; 
And though thy bosom should with grief be swelling, 

Let no tear start: 
It were in vain, — for time has long liwu Helling; — 

S^d oiiSt depart! 



337 



DIALOGUE AND DEAMATIC PIECES. 



LOCHIEL'S WARNING.— Campbell. 

WIZARD — LOCHIEL.* 

Wiz. — Lochiel, Locliiel ! beware of the day 
When the, lowlands shall meet thee in battle array! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scatter'd in tight. 
They rally, they bleed for their kingdom and crown} 
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain ! 
Bat hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 
'Tis thine, oh Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning; no rider is there; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 

* In this dialogue, the tone of the Wizard, or Seer — who is 
supposed to be gifted with second-sight — must be deep, and 
solemn ; increasing in pitch and force as the images of horror 
crowd upon his vision, and varied occasionally by the soft tones 
of grief. The expression of the chieftain Lochiel must be that 
of bold confidence, daring, and contempt of the Wizard's pre- 
diction. His pitch will therefore be higher, and his tone louder. 
z 



338 APPENDIX. 

Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead. 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, 
Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 

Loc. — Go preach to the coward^ thou death-telling seer ! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear. 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight 
This mantle — to cover the phantoms of light. 

Wiz. — Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! — 
Say, rush'd the blood eagle exultingly forth 
From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds of the north? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode. 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad: 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high I 
Ah ! hom^ let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh, 
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
Oh ! crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlement's height, 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn: 
Return to thy dwelling ; all lonely return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it s^ood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood ! 

Loc. — -False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshall'd my clan, 
Their swords are a thousand, their hearts are but one ! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock 1 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array— 



DRAMATIC PIECES, 339 

Wiz. Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ! 
For, dark and despairing my sight I may seal, 
Bat man cannot cover what God would reveal; 
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. — 
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 
With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive king. 
Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, 
Behold where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight ; 
Kise, rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! — 
'Tis finish'd ! Their thunders are hush'd on the moors; 
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores ! 
But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where? — 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banish'd, forlorn, 
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn? 
Ah no ! for a darker departure is near; 
The war- drum is muffled, and black is the bier ; 
His death-bell is tolling ! Oh ! Mercy, dispel 
Yon sight, that it freezes my bosom to tell ! 
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, 
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 
Accurs'd be the faggots that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat, 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale 

Loc. — Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale: 
For never shall Albin a destiny meet, 
So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. 
Though my perishing ranks should be strew'd in their gore, 
Like ocean- weeds heap'd on the surf-beaten shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
Shall victor exult or in death be laid low — 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! 
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudly to heaven from the deathbed of fame 1 
Z 2 



340 APPENDIX. 



CATO ON THE SOUL'S IMMORTALITY. — Addison. 

[Cato is seated with Plato's treatise in his hand, and beside 
him his sword. — The expression should be solemn, and tho 
declamation of a lofty and dignified character.] 

It must be so ! Plato, thou reasonest well : 

Else whence this fond desire, this pleasing hope, 

This longing after immortality? 

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror 

Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul 

Back on herself, and shudders at destruction? 

'Tis the divinity that stirs within us ; 

'Tis heaven itself that points out a hereafter, 

And intimates eternity to man ! — 

Eternity ! thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! — 

Through what variety of untried being, 

Through what new forms and changes must we pass ? 

Tke wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me; 

But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. 

Here will I hold If there's a Power above, — 

And that tlure is all Nature cries aloud 

Through all her works, — He must delight in virtue ; 

And that which He delights in must be happy : 

But when? or how? — This world was made for Cassar. 

I'm weary of conjectures; this must end 'em ! 

[ Taking up the sword J] 
Thus am I doubly arm'd: my life and death, 
My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
This, in a moment, brings me to an end; 
But this assures me I shall never die ! 
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
The stars shall fade away, the Sun himself 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 341 

Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years, — 
Thou .'till shalt flourish in eternal youth, 
Unhurt amidst the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds ! 



MARC ANTONY'S APOSTROPHE* TO CESAR'S 
BODY. — Shakspeare. 

O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, 
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! 
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man 
That ever lived in the tide of times ! 
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! 
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, — 
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, 
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue, 
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; 
Domestic fary, and fierce civil strife 
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ; 
Blood and destruction shall be so in use, 
And dreadful objects so familiar, 
That mothers shall but smile, when they behold 
Their infants quartcr'd with the hands of war; — 
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds; — 
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 
With Ate f by his side, come hot from hell, 
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, 

* This apostrophe is a fine practice in intonation and power- 
ful and impassioned declamation. The speaker should com- 
mence in the deep, solemn tone of grief; making a burst of 
passion as he prophesies the curse that is to follow ; and in- 
crease in energy till he reach the climax at the close. 

26 

f Pronounced Ate — the goddess of discord. 
z 3 



342 APPENDIX. 

Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war; 
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 
With carrion men groaning for burial ! 



SCENE FKOM "JULIUS 02ESAR"— SnAKsrEARE. 

BRUTUS — CASSIUS. 

Cas. — Will you go see the order of the course ? 

Bru.— Not I. 

Cas.— I pray you, do. 

Bru. — I am not gamesome; I do lack some past 
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires: 
I'll leave you. 

Cas. — Brutus, I do observe you now of late; 
I have not from your eyes that gentleness, 
And show of love, as I was wont to have : 
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
Over your friend that loves you. 

Bru. — Cassius, 
Be not deceived : If I have veiFd my look, 
I turn the trouble of my countenance 
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am, 
Of late, with passions of some difference, 
Conceptions only proper to myself, 
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours ; 
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved; 
Among which number, Cassius, be you one; 
Nor construe any further my neglect, 
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, 
Forgets the shows of love to other men. 

Cas. — Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; 
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried 

Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 

Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 343 

Bru. — "No, Cassius ; for the eye sees not itself, 
But by reflection, by some other thing's. 

Cas. — Tis jsst: 
And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
That you have no such mirror, as will turn 
Your hidden worthiness into your eye, 
That you might see your shadow. I have heard, 
Where many of the best respect in Rome — 
Except immortal Caesar — speaking of Brutus, — 
And groaning underneath this age's yoke, 
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 

Bru. — Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, 
That you would have me seek into myself 
For that which is not in me? 

Cas. — Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hoar; 
And, since you know you cannot see yourself 
So well as by reflection, I, your glass. 
Will modestly discover to yourself 
That of yourself which you yet know not of. 
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus: 
Were I a common laugher, or did use 
To stale with ordinary oaths my love 
To every new protester : if you know 
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, 
And, after, scandal them: or if you know 
That I profess myself in banquetting 
To all the icut, then hold me dangerous, 

Bru. — What means this shouting? — I do fear the peoplo 
Choose Caesar for their king. 

Cas. — Aye, do you fear it? 
Then must I think, you would not have it so. 

Bru. — I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well: — 
But, wherefore do you hold me here so long? 
What is it that you would impart to me? 
If it be aught toward the general good, 
Set honour in one eye, and death i' the other, 
And I will look on both indifferently: 
/ 4 



344 APPENDIX. 

For let the gods so speed me, as I love 
The name of honour more than I fear death. 

Cas — I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
As well as I do know your outward favour. 
Well, honour is the subject of my story. — 
I cannot tell, what you and other men 
Think of this life ; but, for my single self, 
I had as lief not be, as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Caesar ; so were you ; 
We both have fed as well , and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold as well as he ; 
For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
The troubled Tiber chafing with his shores, 
Caesar said to me, " Dar'st thou, Cassius, now, 
Leap in with me into this angry flood, 
And swim to yonder point ? " — Upon the word. 
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 
And bade him follow ; so, indeed, he did. 
The torrent roar'd ; and we did buffet it 
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside, 
And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
But, ere we could arrive the point proposed, 
Caesar cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink." 
I — as (Eneas, our great ancestor, 
Did from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder, 
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber, 
Did I the tired Caesar. And this man 
Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 
A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 
He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
And when the fit was on him, I did mark 
How he did shake ; 'tis true, this god did shake 5 
His coward lips did from their colour fly ; 
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 
Did lose its lustre : I did hear him groan : 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 345 

Aye, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
Alas, it cried, " Give me some drink, Titinius," 
As a sick girl. Ye gods ! it doth amaze me, 
A man of such a feeble temper should 
So get the start of the majestic world, 
And bear the palm alone. 

Bru. — Another general shout ! 
I do believe, that these applauses are 
Tor some new honours that are heap'd on Cassar. 

Cas. — Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
Like a Colossus ; and we, petty men, 
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about, 
To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
Men at some times are masters of their fates : 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
Brutus and Csesar : What should be in that Cassar ? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
Weigh them, it as heavy ; conjure with 'em, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. — 
Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 
That he hath grown so great ? Age, thou art shamed ; 
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
But it was famed with more than with one man ! 
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
That her wide walls encompass'd but one man ? 
Oh ! you and I have heard our fathers say, 
There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd 
The eternal devil to keep his seat in Rome, 
As easily as a king. 

Bru. — That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; 
What you would work me to I have some aim : 



846 APPENDIX. 

How I have thought of this, and of these times, 
I shall recount hereafter ; for this present 
I would not — so with love I might entreat you ■ 
Be any further moved. What you have said 
I will consider ; what you have to say 
I will with patience hear ; and find a time 
Both meet to hear and answer such high things. - 
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this ; 
Brutus had rather be a villager ; 
Than to repute himself a son of Rome, 
Under these hard conditions as this time 
Is like to lay upon us. 



SIIYLOCK TO ANTONIO.— Shakspeahb. 

[The expression should be of bitter sarcasm."] 

Signor Antonio, many a time and oft 

In the Bialto you have rated me 

About my monies, and my usances : 

Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; 

For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : 

You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat, dog, 

And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine ; 

And all for use of that which is mine own. 

Well, then, it now appears you need my help : 

Go to, then — you come to me, and you say, 

" Shylock, we would have monies." You say so ; 

You, that did void your rheum upon my beard. 

And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur 

Over your threshold : monies is your suit. 

What should I say to you ? Should I not say 

" Hath a dog money ? Is it possible 

A cur can lend three thousand ducats ?" Or 

Snail I bend low, and in a bondsman's key, 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 317 

With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness, 
Say this — 

" Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last 5 
You spurn'd me such a day ; another time 
You call'd me — dog ; and for these courtesies 
I'll lend you thus much monies." 



HENRY IV.'s APOSTEOPHE TO SLEEP.— 

Shakspeare. 

How many thousands of my poorest subjects 

Are at this hour asleep ! Sleep, gentle Sleep, 

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 

That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, 

And steep my senses in forgetfulness ! 

Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, 

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, 

Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, 

Under the canopies of costly state, 

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? 

Oh thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile, 

In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch, 

A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell ? 

Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast, 

Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 

In cradle of the rude, imperious surge, 

And in the visitation of the winds, 

Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 

With deafning clamours in the slippery clouds, 

That, with the hurly, death itself awakes? 

Canst thou, O partial Sleep ! give thy repose 

To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; 



348 APPENDIX. 

And, in the calmest and most stillest nirrht* 
Witn all appliances and means to boot, 
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low. lie down! 
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 



THE SEVEN AGES. — Shakspeare. 

All the world's a stage ; 
And all the men and women merely players. 
They have their exits and their entrances, 
And one man, in his time, plays many parts, 
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms: 
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel, 
And shining morning face, creeping, like snail, 
Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover, 
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eye brow: Then, a soldier; 
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard; 
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
Seeking the bubble reputation, 
Ev'n in the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice; 
In fair round belly, with good capon lined, 
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 
Eull of wise saws, and modern instances; 
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, 
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; 
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide 
Eor his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound: — Last scene of all, 
That ends this strange, eventful history, 
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything! 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 349 



SCENE FROM THE TRAGEDY OF "ION." — - 
Talfodhd. 

Tlie Royal Chamber — Adrastus on a couch, asleep. 
Enter Ion, with a knife. 

Ion. — Why do I creep thus stealthily along 
With trembling steps? Am I not arin'd by Heaven, 
To execute its mandate on a king 
Whom it hath doom'd! And shall I falter now, 
While every moment that he breathes may crush • 

Some life else happy? Can I be deceived 
By some foul passion crouching in my soul, 
Which takes a radiant form to lure me on ? 
Assure me, gods! — Yes; I have heard your voices 
For I dare pray ye now to nerve my arm 
And see me strike! [He goes to the couch.'] 

He's smiling in his slumber, 
As if some happy thought of innocent days 
Play'd at his heart-strings: must I scare it thence 
With Death's sharp agony ? He lies condemn'd 
By the high judgment of supernal Powers, 
And he shall know their sentence. Wake, Adrastus! 
Collect thy spirits and be strong to die! 

Adras. — Who dares disturb my rest? Guards! Soldiers! 
Recreants ! 
Where tarry ye ? Why smite ye not to earth 
This bold intruder? Ha! no weapon here! — • 
What wouldst thou with me, ruffian? [Rising.'] 

Ion. — I am none; 
But a sad instrument in Jove's great hand, 
To take thy life, long forfeited — -Prepare! 
Thy hour is come ! 

Adras.— Villains! does no one hear? 



350 APPENDIX. 

Ion. — Vex not the closing minutes of thy being 
With torturing hope or idle rage; thy guards, 
Palsied with revelry, are scatterVl senseless, 
While the most valiant of our Argive youths 
Hold every passage by which human aid 
Could reach thee. Present death is the award 
Of Powers who watch above me while I stand 
To execute their sentence. 

Adras. — Thou ! — I know thee — 
The youth I spared this morning, in whose ear 
I pour'd the secrets of my bosom. Kill me, 
If thou dar'st do it; but bethink thee first 
How the grim memory of thy thankless deed 
Will haunt thee tq^he grave! 

Ion. — It is most true; 
Thou sparMst my life, and therefore do the gods 
Ordain me to this office, lest thy fall 
Seem the chance forfeit of some single sin 
And not the great redress of Argos. Now— 
Now% while I parley — spirits that have left, 
Within this hour, their plague-tormented flesh 
To rot untomb'd, glide by, and frown on me, 
Their slow avenger, — and the chamber swarms 
With looks of Furies. — Yet a moment wait, 
Ye dreadful prompters! If there is a friend, 
Whom dying thou wouldst greet by word or token, 
Speak thy last bidding. 

Adras. — I have none on earth. 
If thou hast courage, end me ! 

Ion. — Not one friend! 
Most piteous doom ! 

Adras. — Art melted? 

Ion. — If I am, 
Hope nothing from my weakness; mortal arms, 
And eyes unseen that sleep not, gird us round, 
And we shall fall together. Be it so! 

Adras. — No; strike at once ; ray hour is come: in thee 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 351 

I recognise the minister of Jove, 

And, kneeling thus, submit me to his power. [Adrastus kneels,"} 

Ion. — Avert thy face ! 

Adras. — Xo; let me meet thy gaze: 
For breathing pity lights thy features up 
Into more aweful likeness of a form 
Winch once shown on me; — and which now my sense 
Shapes palpable — in habit of the grave, 
Inviting me to the sad realm where shades 
Of innocents, whom passionate regard 
Link'd with the guilty, are content to pace 
With them the margin of the inky flood, 
Mournful and calm ; — 'tis surely there ; — she waves 
Her pallid hand in circle o'er thy head, 
As if to bless thee ■ — and I bless thee too, 
Death's gracious angel ; Do not turn away. 

Ion. — Gods ! to what ofhce have ye doom'd me ! — Now ! 
[Ion raises his arm to stab Adrastcs, tvho is kneeling, 
and gazes steadfastly upon him. The' voice of 
Medon is heard without, calling " Ion ! Ion ! " — 
Ion drops his arm.] 

Adras.— Be quick, or thou art lost ! 

[Medox rushes in behind them.'] 

Medon. — Ion, forbear ! 
Behold thy son, Adrastus ! 

[Iox drops the knife and stands stupified with horror.'] 

Adras. — TThat strange words 
Are these which call my senses from the death 
They were composed to welcome ? — Son ! 'tis false — 
I had but one — and the deep wave rolls o'er him ! 

Medon. — That wave received, instead of the fair nurseling, 
One of the slaves who bore him from thy sight 
In wicked haste to slay ; I '11 give thee proofs ! 

Adras. — Great Jove, I thank thee ! — proofs ! 
Are there not here the lineaments of her 
Who made me happy once — the voice, now stiil, 



352 APPENDIX. 

That bade the long-seal'd fount of love gush out, 
While with a prince's constancy he came 
To lay his noble life down : and the sure, 
The dreadful proof, that he whose guileless brow 
Is instinct with her spirit, stood above me, 
Arni'd for the traitor's deed ? — It is my child ! 

[Ion sinks on one knee before Adrastus.] 

Ion, — Father ! \_A noise without.'] 

Medon. — The clang of arms ! 

Ion {star tiny up). — They come ! they come ! 
They who are leagued with me against thy life. 
Here let us fall ! 

Adras. — I will confront them yet. 
Within I have a weapon which has drunk 
A traitor's blood ere now ; — there will I wait for them. 
Tso power less strong than death shall part us now ! 

[ They go in together. ] 



QUARREL SCENE FROM "JULIUS CiESAR,"— 
Shakspeare. 

[In this dialogue the manner of Brutus should be dignified 
and sarcastic ; while that of Cassius should be quick, im- 
petuous, and passionate.] 

CASSIUS AND BRUTUS. 

Cas. — That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this : 
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians. — 
Wherein, my letters, praying on his side 
(Because I knew the man), were slighted off. 

Bru. — You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case. 

Cas. — In such a time as this, it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear his comment. 

Bru. — Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 353 

Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm 
To sell ar-J. ipart jour offices for gold 
To undesen^rs. 

Cas. — I an itching palm ! — 
You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods, that speech were else your last. 

Bru. — The name of Cassius honours this corruption, 
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 

Cas. — Chastisement ! 

Bru. — Remember March — the ides of March remember ! 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
What villain touch'd his body that did stab, 
And not for justice ? What, shall one of us, 
That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
But tor supporting robbers — shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, 
And sell the mighty space of our large honours 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? 
I bad rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Cas. — Brutus, bay not me, 
I '11 not endure it 3 I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

B? u. — Go to ; you're not, Cassius. 

Cas. — i am. 

Bru. — I say, you are not. 

Cas. — Urge me no more ; I shall forget myself : 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 

Bru. — Away, slight man ! 

Cas. — Is r t possible ? 

Bru. — Hear me, for I will speak. — 
Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
Shall I be flighted when a madman stares ? 

Cas. — Ye gods ! ye gods ! Must I endure all this ? 

Bru. — All this ? aye, more. — Fret till your proud heart 
break. — 

A A 



354 APPENDIX. 

Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must 1 buclse ? 
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and croucn ? 
Under your testy humour ! By the gods ! 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, 
I'll use you for my mirth — yea, for my laughter — 
When you are waspish. 

Cas. — Is it come to this ? 

Bru. — You say you are a better soldier : 
Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
And it shall please me well : for mine own part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 

Cas. — You wrong me, every way you wrong me, Brutus • 
I said, an elder soldier, not a better j — 
Did I say better ? 

Bru. — If you did I care not. 

Cas. — When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. 

Bru. — Peace, peace : you durst not so have tempted bin*. 

Cas. — I durst not ? 

Bru. — No. ^ 

Cas. — What ? durst not tempt him ? 

Bru. — For your life, you durst not. 

Cas. — Do not presume too much upon my love ; 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. — You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
For lam arm'd so strong in honesty, 
That they pass by me as the idle wind 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; 
For I can raise no money by vile means : 
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trasfc 
By any indirection. I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions, 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 355 

Which you denied me. Was that done like Casslusr 
Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so? — 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends. 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
Dash him to pieces! 

Cas. — I denied you not. 

Bru. — You did. 

Cas.— I did not. — He was but a fool 
That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath rived my heart; 
A friend should bear a friend's infirmities, 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. — I do not, — till you practise them on me. 

Cas. — You love me not. 

Bru, — I do not like your faults. 

Cas. — A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bru. — A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. — Come, Antony, and young Octavius come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world : 
Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; 
Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observed, 
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote. 
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger, 
And here my naked breast: within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
If that thou be'st a Eoman, take it forth ; 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my hearts 
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar: for, I know. 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better 
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 

Bru. — Sheath your dagger : 
Be angry when you will, it shall have scone; 
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
0, Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 

4A2 



S5G APPENDIX. 

That carries anger, as the flint bears flrei 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark. 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. — Hath Cassius lived 
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus. 
When grief, and blood ill-temper' d, vexeth him? 

Bru. — When I spoke that I was ili-temper'd too. 

Cas. — Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. 

Bru. — And my heart too! [They embrace.^ 

Cas. — 0, Brutus! 

Bru. — What's the matter? 

Cas. — Have not you love enough to bear with me, 
When that rash humour which my mother gave me 
Makes me forgetful? 

Bru. — Yes, Cassius; and henceforth, 
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
Ile'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. 



BOBADIL'S MILITARY TACTICS.— Ben Jonson. 

[With the bombastic expression of an empty braggart.] 

I will tell you, sir, by the way of private and under seal, 
I am a gentleman, and live here obscure and to myself; but 
were I known to his majesty and the lords, observe me. I 
would undertake, upon this poor head and life, for the public 
benefit of the state, not only to spare the entire lives of his 
subjects in general, but to save the one half, nay, three parts 
of his yearly charge in holding war, and against what enemy 
soever. And how would I do it, think you? Why thus, sir. 
I would select nineteen more to myself; gentlemen they should 
be, of a good spirit, strong and able constitution; I would 
choose them by an instinct a character that I have: and I 
would teach these nineteen the special rules, as your Punto, 
your Reverso, your Stoccato, your Imbrocato, your iPassado, 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 357 

your Mcntanto*; till they could all play very near, or alto- 
gether, as well as myself. This done, say the enemy were 
forty thousand strong, we twenty would come into the field 
the tenth of March or thereabouts ; and we w<\u.Jo challenge 
twenty of the enemy; they could not in their notour refuse 
us ! Well, we would kill them ; challenge twenty more, kill 
them; twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them too: 
and thus would we kill, every man his twentv a day, that's 
twenty score ; twenty score, that's two hundred; two hundred 
a day, five days a thousand : forty thousand — forty times five, 
five times forty, — two hundred days kills them all up by com- 
putation. And this I will venture my poor gentleman-like 
carcase to perform (provided there be no treason practised 
upon us), by discreet manhood, that is, civilly, by the sword. 



MARC ANTONY'S ORATION.— Shakctare. 

Em ends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; 

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 

The evil that men do lives after them ; 

The good is oft interred with their bones ; 

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 

Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious ; 

If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 

And grievously hath Caesar answered it. 

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest — 

(For Brutus is an honourable man, 

So are they all, all honourable men) — 

Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 

But Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honourable man. 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers ftU * 

* Terms of the fencing-school. 

A A 1 



358 APFSKKX. 

Did this In Caesar seem ambitious ! 
When that the poor have cried, Caesar ha^» wept? .• 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff-** 
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious 5 
And Brutus is an honourable man. 
You all did see that, on the Lupercal, 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition? 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And, sure, he is an honourable man! 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
But here I am to speak what I do know. 
You all did love him once, not without cause ; 
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me 1 
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
And I must pause till it come back to me, 
But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 
Have stood against the world : now lies he there. 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

masters ! if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honourable men : 

I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 

Than I will wrong such honourable men. 

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar 3 

I found it in his closet, 'tis his will ; 

Let but the commons hear his testament, 

Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read, 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's woii#3k 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood. ; 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 

And, dying, mention it within their wills 

Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 

Unto their issue. — 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 359 

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle ; 1 remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, — 
That day he overcame the Nervii : — 
Look, in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through : 
See what a rent the envious Casca made : 
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
And, as he pluck' d his cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it, 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ! 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him 1 
This was the most unkindest cut of all : 
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty heart , 
And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
Even at the base of Pompey's statua, 
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. — 
O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 
The dint of pity : these are gracious drops ; 
Kind souls ! What, weep you, when you but behold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, 
Here is himself, marr'd as you see, with traitors. — 

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
They that have done this deed are honourable ; 
What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not, 
That made them do it : They are wise and honourable : 
And will, no doubt, with reasons, answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 
I am no orator, as Brutus is; 
AA4 



360 APPENDIX. 

But as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, 

That love my friend : and that they know full well 

That gave me public leave to speak of him ; 

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 

Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech 

To stir men's blood. I only speak right on ; 

I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 

Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor dumb mouths, 

And bid them speak for me : But, were I Brutus, 

And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 

Would ruffle up you spirits, and put a tongue 

In every wound of Caesar that should move 

The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny I 



FOUR SCENES FROM SIR E. L. B. LITTON'S PLAY 
OF " RICHELIEU, OR THE CONSPIRACY." 

First Scene. — A room in the Palais Cardinal; the walls 
hung with arras, 

Richelieu seated at a table with papers before Hif. lie rings 
a small bell. Huguet (an officer of Richelieu's guard) 
enters. 

Hug. — Tae Chevalier de Mauprat waits below. 

Rich.-^^ie struggled not, normurmur'd ? 

Hug. — No : proud and passive. 

Rich. — Bid him enter. — Hold; 
Look that he hide no weapon. 
When he has enter'd, 
Glide round unseen ; place thyself yonder {pointing to the 

arras) ; watch him ; 
If he show violence — (let me see thy carbine 5 
So, a good weapon) ; if he play tic lion, 
Why — the dog's death. 



DRAMATIC PIECES. SGI 

[Exit Hcguet ; Richelieu seats himself at the table, and 
slowly arranges the papers before him. Enter 1)e 
Mauprat, preceded by Huguet, who then retires behind 
the arras.~\ 

Rich. — Approach, sir. Can you call to mind the hour, 
Now three years since, when in this room, mcthinks, 
Your presence honoured me? 

De Maup. — It is, my lord, 
One of my most — 

Rich, {dryly.') — Delightful recollections. 

De Maup. (aside.) — St. Denis ! doth he make a jest of axe 
And headsman ? 

Rich, (sternly.) — I did then accord you 
A mercy ill-requited — you still live ? 

De Maup. — To meet death face to face at last. 

Rich. — Your words 
Are bold. 

De Maup. — My deeds have not belied them. 

Rich. — Deeds! - 

O miserable delusion of man's pride ! 
Deeds! cities sack'd, fields ravaged, hearths profaned, 
Men butcher'cl ! In your hour of doom behold 
The deeds you boast of ! From rank showers of blood 
And the red light of blazing roofs, you build 
The rainbow gioiw, and to shuddering conscience 
Cry: " Lo, the bridge to heaven ?" 

De Maup. — If war be sinful, 
Your hand the gauntlet cast. 

Rich. — It was so, sir. 
Note the distinction : I weigh'd well the cause, 
Which made the standard holy ; raised the war 
But to secure the peace. France bled — I groan'd; 
But leok'd beyond ; and in the vista saw 
France saved; and I exulted. You — but you 
Were but the tool of slaughter — knowing naught, 
Foreseeing naught, naught hoping, naught lamenting. 



362 APPENDIX. 

And for naught fit,— save cutting throats for hire. 
Deeds, many, deeds ! 

De Maup. — If you deign to speak 
Thus to your armies ere they march to battle, 
Perchance your eminence might have the pain 
Of the throat-cutting to yourself. 

Rich, (aside.) — He has wit, 
This Mauprat. — [Aloud.) There is against you 
What you can less excuse. Messire de Man prat, 
Doom'd to sure death, how hast thou since consumed 
The time allotted thee for serious thought 
And solemn penance? 

De Maup. (embarrassed.) — The time, my lord? 

llich. — Is not the question plain? I'll answer for thee. 
Thou hast sought nor priest, nor shrine; no sackcloth chafed 
Thy delicate flesh. The rosary and the death's-head 
Have not, with pious meditation, purged 
Earth from the carnal gaze. What thou hast not done 
Brief told ; what done, a volume ! Wild debauch. 
Turbulent riot :— for the morn the- dice-box — 
Noon claim'd the duel — and the night the wassail: 
These, your most holy, pure preparatives 
For death and judgment ! Do I wrong you, sir? 

De Maup. — I was not always thus: — if changed my nature, 
Blame that which changed my fate. Alas, my lord, 
There is a brotherhood which calm-eyed reason, 
Can wot not of, betwixt Despair and Mirth. 
My birthplace mid the vines of sunny Provence, 
Perchance the stream that sparkles in wy veins 
Came from that wine of passionate life which erst 
Glow'd in the wild heart of the Troubadour: 
And danger, which makes steadier courage wary, 
But fevers me with an insane delight; 
As one of old who on the mountain crags 
Caught madness from a Maenad's haunting eyes. 
Were you, my lord, whose path imperial power 
And the grave cares of reverend wisdom guard 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 363 

From all that tempts to folly meaner men, — 
Were you accursed with that which you inflicted, — 
By hed and board dogg'd by one ghastly spectre, 
The while within you youth beat high, and life 
Grew lovelier from the neighbouring frown of death- 
Were this your fate, perchance, 
You would have erred like me ! 

Rich. — I might, like you, 
Have been a brawler and a reveller ; — not, 
Like you, a trickster and a thief. — 

De Maup. (advancing threateningly.) — Lord Cardinal! 
Unsay those words ! — 

[Huguet advances and deliberately raises his carbine.'] 

Rich, (waving his hand.) — Not quite so quick, friend 
Huguet; 
Messire De Mauprat is a patient man, 
And he can wait ! [Huguet retires.'] 

You have outrun your fortune ; 
I blame you not that you would be a beggar — 
Each to his taste I But I do charge you, sir, 
That, being beggar'd, you would coin false monies 
Out of that crucible called debt. To live 
On means not yours — be brave in silks and laces, 
Gallant in steeds, splendid in banquets ; — all 
Not yours — un given — unherited — unpaid for;— - 
This is to be a trickster ; and to filch 
Men's art and labour, which to them is wealth, 
Life, daily bread, — quitting all scores with — ■" Friend, 
You're troublesome ! " Why this, forgive me. 
Is what, when done with a less dainty grace. 
Plain folks call " Theft .'" You owe eight thousand pistoles 
Minus one crown, two liards! 

De Maup. (aside.) — The old conjurer! 

Rich. — -This is scandalous, 

Shaming your birth and blood. 1 tell you, sir, 

That you must pay your debts — - 



364 APPENDIX. 

De Maup. — With all my heart, 
My lord. Where shall I borrow, then, the money? 

Rich, {aside and laughing.') — A humorous dare-devil! 
— the very man 
To suit my purpose— ready, frank, and bold! 
Adrien de Mauprat, men have called me cruel ; 
I am not ; I soon just ! I found France rent asunder, — 
The rich men despots, and the poor banditti; 
Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple; 
Brawls festering to rebellion ; and weak laws 
Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. — 
I have re-created France; and, from the ashes 
Of the old feudal and decrepit carcase, 
Civilisation on her luminous wings 
Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove! What was my art? 
Genius, some say, — some fortune, — Witchcraft, some: 
Not so ; — my art was Justice ! Force and fraud 
Misname it cruelty — you shall confute them ! 
My champion you ! You met me as your foe, 
Depart my friend. — You shall not die — France needs you. 
You shall wipe off all stains, — be rich, be honour' d, 
Be great ! 



Second Scene — In the same Palace, 

Richelieu (calls). — Francois. 

Enter Francois. 

Follow this fair lady, Francois. 
(Find him the suiting garments, Marion); take 
My fleetest steed: arm thyself to the teeth; 
A packet will be given you, with orders, — 
No matter what ! The instant that your hand 
Closes upon it — clutch it, like your honour. 
Which death alone can steal or ravish; set 
Spurs to your steed — -be breathless till you stand 



DRAMATIC PIECES. QQO 

Again before me,— Stay, sir. — You will find me 
Two short leagues hence, — at Ruelle, in my castle. 
Young man, be blithe! for, note me, from the hour 
I grasp that packet, think your guardian star 
Rains fortune on you. 

Fran.—ltLfaii— ? 

Rich,—Fid\, — fail ? 
In the lexicon of youth, which Fate reserves 
For a bright manhood, there is no such word 
As— fail ! — You will instruct him further, Marion. 
Follow her — but at distance; — speak not to her, 
Till you are housed ; — farewell, boy ! Never say 
*' Fail" again. 

Fran. — I will not ! 

Rich {patting his locks.) — There's my young hero! 

\_Exeunt Francois and Marion.] 

So. they would seize my person in this place? 
I cannot guess their scheme : — but my retinue 
Is here too large ! — a single traitor could 
Strike impotent the fate of thousands; — Joseph, 
Art sure of Hague t? — Think — we hang'd his father! 

Joseph. — But you have bought his son ; heap'd favours on 
him ! 

Rich. — Trash! — favours past — that's nothing! In his hours 
Of confidence with you, has he named the favours 
To come he counts on ? 

Joseph. — Yes ; a colonel's rank, 
And letters of nobility. 

Rich.—- What! Huguet!— 

[Here Huguet enters as to address the Cardinal, who 
(lets not perceive him.'] 

Hug. — My own name, soft ! [ Glides behind the arras.'] 

Rich. — Colonel and nobleman ! 
My bashful Hnjruet — that can never be! 
We have him not the less — we'll promise it! 



366 APPENDIX. 

And see the king withholds ! Ah, kings are oft 

A great convenience to a minister! 

No wrong to Huguet either! — Moralists 

Say hope is sweeter than possession ! — Yes — 

We'll count on Huguet! Favours past do gorge 

Our dogs — leave service drowsy — dull the scent — 

Slacken the speed; — favours to come, my Joseph, 

Produce a lusty, hungry gratitude, 

A ravenous zeal, that of the commonest cur 

Would make a Cerberus. You are right, this treason 

Assumes a fearful aspect: — but, once crush' d, 

Its very ashes shall manure the soil 

Of power, and ripen such full sheaves of greatness, 

That all the summer of my fate shall seem 

Fruitless beside the autumn ! 

[Huguet holds up his hand menacingly, and creeps out"] 

Joseph. — The saints grant it ! 

Rich, {solemnly.) — Yes — for sweet France, Heaven grant it ! 
my country, 
For thee — thee only — though men deem it not — 
Are toil and terror my familiars ! — I 
Have made thee great and fair — upon thy brows 
Wreath' d the old Roman laurel : — at thy feet 
Bow'd nations down. No pulse in my ambition 
Whose beatings were not measured from thy heart! 
In the old times before us patriots lived 
And died for liberty — 

Joseph. — As you would live 
And die for despotry — 

Rich. — False monk, not so! 
Not for the purple and the power wherein 
State clothes herself. I love my native land, — 
Not as Venetian, Englisher, or Swiss. 
But as a noble and a priest of France ; 
" All things for France" — lo, my eternal maxim! 
The vital axle of the restless wheels 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 367 

That bear me on ! With her I have entwined 

My passions and my fate — my crimes, my virtues — 

Hated and loved, and schemed, and shed men's blood, 

As the calm crafts of Tuscan sages teach 

Those who would make their country great. Beyond 

The map of France my heart can travel not, 

But fills that limit to its farthest verge; 

And while I live — Richelieu and France are one. 

Yes, 

In thy unseen and abstract majesty, 

My France — my country, I have bodied forth 

A thing to love. What are these robes of state, 

This pomp, this palace? Perishable baubles! 

Tn this world two things only are immortal — 

Fame and a people ! 

Enter Huguet. 

Hug. — My Lord Cardinal, 
Your eminence bade me seek you at this hour. 

Rich. — Did I? — True, Huguet. So — you overheard 
Strange talk amongst these gallants? Snares and traps 
For Richelieu? — Well — we'll balk them; let me think. 
The men at arms you head — how many? 

Hug. — Twenty, 
My Lord. 

Rich- -All trusty? 

Hug. — Yes, for ordinary 
Occasions — if for great ones, I would change 
Three-fourths at least ! 

Rich. — Aye, what are great occasions ? 

Hug. — Great bribes ! 

Rich, (to Joseph.) — Good lack, he knows some paragons 
Superior to great bribes. 

Hug. — True gentlemen, 
Who have transgress'd the laws — and value life, 
And lack not gold ; your eminence alone 
Can grant them pardon. Ergo, you can trust them ! 



SG8 APPENDIX. 

Rich. — Logic! So be it — let this honest twenty 
Be arm'd and mounted. — (Aside.) So they meet at mid- 
night, 
The attempt on me to-morrow. — Ho! we'll strike 
'Twixt wind and water. — (Aloud.) Does it need much time 
To find these ornaments to human nature? * 

Hug. — My Lord, the trustiest are not birds 
That love the daylight. I do know a haunt 
Where they meet nightly. 

Rich. — Ere the dawn be grey 
All could be arm'd, assembled, and at Ruelle 
In my old hall? 

Hug. — By one hour after midnight. 

Rich.— The castle's strong. You know its outlets, Huguet? 
Would twenty men, well posted, keep such guard 
That not one step (and murder's step is stealthy) 
Could glide within unseen ? 

Hug. — A triple wall — 
A drawbridge and portcullis — twenty men, 
Under my lead, a month might hold that castle 
Against a host. 

Rich. — They do not strike till morning, 
Yet I will shift the quarter. — Bid the grooms 
Prepare the litter. — I will hence to Ruelle 
While daylight last ; and one hour after midnight 
You and your twenty saints shall seek me thither ! 
You're made to rise! — You are, sir; — eyes of lynx, 
Ears of the stag, a footfall like the snow; — 
You are a valiant fellow; — yea, a trusty, 
Religious, exemplary, incorrupt, 
And precious jewel of a fellow, Huguet ! 
If I live long enough, — aye, mark my words — 
If I live long enough, you'll be a colonel — 
Noble, perhaps! One hour, sir, after midnight. 

Hug. — You leave me dumb with gratitude, my lord; 
I'll pick the trustiest (aside) Marion's house can furnish. 

[Exit Huguet. J 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 369 

JRich. — How like a spider shall I sit in my hole, 
And watch the meshes tremble. 

Joseph, — But, my lord, 
Were it not wiser still to man the palace, 
And seize the traitors in the act? 

JRich. — No; Louis, 
Long chafed against me ; he'll say I hatch'd the treason, 
Or scout my charge. He half desires my death: 
But the despatch to Bouillon, some dark scheme 
Against Ms crown — there is our weapon, Joseph ! 
With that all safe — without it all is peril ! 
Meanwhile to my old castle ; you to court, 
Diving with careless eyes into men's hearts. 
Good — all favours, 

If Francois be but bold, and Huguet honest. 
Huguet — I half suspect — he bowed too low — 
'Tis not his way. 

Joseph. — This is the curse, my lord, 
Of your high state ; suspicion of all men. 

Rich, (sadly.) — True ; true ; my leeches bribed to poison — 
pages 
To strangle me in sleep — my very king 
(This brain, the unresting loom, from which was woven 
The purple of his greatness) leagued against me— 
Old — childless — friendless — broken — all forsake — 
All - all— but — 

Jos.-— What? 

Mich. — The indomitable heart 
Of Armand Richelieu. 

Jos. — And Joseph 

JRich. (after a pause.) — You 

Yes, I believe you — yes; for all men fear you — 
And the world loves you not. And I, friend Joseph, 
I am the only man who could, my Joseph, 
Make you a bishop. Come, we'll go to dinner, 
And talk the while of methods to advance 
Our Mother Church. Ah, Joseph, — Bishop Joseph. {Exeunt. 
B B 



370 appendix. 



Third Scene. — Midnight. 

Richelieu's Castle at Ruelle — A Gothic chamber — Moonlight 
at the window, occasionally obscured. 

Rich, (reading.) — " In silence and at night the conscience 
feels 
That life should soar to nobler ends than power." 
So sayest thou, sage and sober moralist ! 
But wert thou tried? Sublime Philosophy, 
Thou art the Patriarch's ladder, reaching heaven, 
And bright with beck'ning angels, but, alas! 
We see thee, like the patriarch, but in dreams, 
By the first step — dull slumbering on the earth. 
I am not happy!— 

When I am dust my name shall, like a star, 
Shine through wan space a glory — and a prophet, 
Whereby pale seers shall from their aery towers 
Con all the ominous signs, bsnign or evil, 
That make the potent astrologue of kings. 
But shall the future judge me by the ends 
That I have wrought, or by the dubious means 
Through which the stream of my renown hath run 
Into the many- voiced, unfathomed Time? 
Foul in its bed lie weeds, and heaps of slime, 
And with its waves, when sparkling in the sun, 
Oft-times the secret rivulets that swell 
Its might of waters, blend the hues of blood. 
Yet are my sins not those of circumstance, 
That all pervading atmosphere, wherein 
Our spirits, like the unsteady lizard, take 
The tints that colour, and the food that nurtures? 
O! ye, whose hour-glass shifts its tranquil sands 
In the imvex'd silence of a student's cell; — 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 371 

Ye, whose untempted hearts have never toss'd 

Upon the dark and stormy tides where life 

Gives battle to the elements, — and man 

Wrestles with man for some slight j lank, whose weight 

"Will bear but one — while round the desperate wretch 

The hungry billows roar — and the fierce Fate, 

Like some huge monster, dim-seen through the surf, 

Waits him who drops; — ye safe and formal men, 

Who write the deeds, and with unfeverish hand 

Weigh in nice scales the motives of the great, — 

Ye cannot know what ye have never tried! 

History preserves only the fleshless bones 

Of what we are — and by the mocking skull 

The would-be wise pretend to guess the features ! 

Without the roundness and the glow of life 

How hideous is the skeleton ! Without 

The colourings and humanities that clothe 

Our errors, the anatomists of schools 

Can make our memory hideous ! 

I have wrought 
Great uses out of evil tools — and they 
In the time to come may bask beneath the light 
Which I have stolen from the angry gods, 
And warn their sons against the glorious theft, 
Forgetful of the darkness which it broke. 
I have shed blood — but I have had no foes 
Save those the state had. — If my wrath was deadly. 
'Tis that I felt my country in my veins, 
And smote her sons as Brutus smote his own. 
And yet I am not happy — blanch'd and sear'd 
Before my time — breathing an air of hate, 
And seeing daggers in the eyes of men, 
And wasting powers that shake the thrones of earth 
In contests with the insects — bearding kings 
And braved by lackies — murder at my bed ; 
And lone amidst the multitudinous web, 
With the dread Three — that are the Fates who hold 

bb2 



372 APPENDIX. 

The woof and shears— the Monk, the Spy, the Headsman. 
And this is power ! Alas] I am not happy. 

[After a pause.] 
And yet the Nile is fretted by the weeds 
Its rising roots not up: but never yet 
Did one last barrier by a ripple vex 
My onward tide, unswept in sport away. 
Am I so ruthless, then, that I do hate 
Them who hate me? Tush, tush! I do not hate ; 
Kay, I forgive. The statesman writes the doom, 
But the priest sends the blessing. I forgive them, 
But I destroy ; foregiveness is mine own, 
Destruction is the state's ! For private life, 
Scripture the guide, — for public, Machiavel. 
Would fortune serve me if the Heaven were wroth.? 
For chance makes half my greatness. I was born 
Beneath the aspect of a bright -eyed star, 
And my triumphant adamant of soul 

Is but the fix'd persuasion of success. 

Oh ! — here ! — that spasm — again! — How life and death 

Do wrestle for me momently! 

O ! beautiful — all golden — gentle youth! 

Making thy palace in the careless front 

And hopeful eye of man — ere yet the soul 

Hath lost the memories which (so Plato drcam'd) 

Breath'd glory from the earlier star it dwelt in— 

O! for one gale from thine exulting morning! 

Could I recall the past, — or had not set 

The prodigal treasures of the bankrupt soul 

In one slight bark upon the shoreless sea ! 

The yoked steer, after his day of toil, 

Forgets the goad, and rests : — to me alike 

Or day or night. Ambition has no rest! 

Shall I resign ? — Who can resign himself ? 

For custom is ourself !— As drink and food 

Become our bone and flesh — the aliments 

Nurturing our nobler part, the mind— thoughts, dreams, 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 378 

Passions and aims, in the revolving cycle 
Of the great alchemy — at length are made 
Our mind itself! and yet the sweets of leisure — 
An honoured home, — far from these hase intrigues, — 
An eyrie on the heaven -kiss'd heights of wisdom — 

[Taking up the booh.'} 

Speak to me, moralist ! I'll heed thy counsel. 
Were it not best 

Enter Francois hastily, and in part disguised. 

Rich, (flinging aicay the book.) — Philosophy, thou liest! 
Quick — the despatch ! — Power— empire ! Boy- the packet? 

Fran. — Kill me, my lord ! 

Rich.-^-Thej knew thee — they suspected — 
They gave it not 

Fran. — He gave it — he — the Count 
De Baradas ; with his own hand he gave it ! 

Rich. — Baradas ! Joy ! out with it ! 

Fran. — Listen, 
And then dismiss me to the headsman. 

Rich.— Ha! 
Go on. 

Fran. — -They led me to a chamber. There 
Orleans and Baradas — and some half-score, 
Whom I knew not — were met 

Rich. — Not more ! 

Fran. — But from 
Th' adjoining chamber broke the din of voices, 
The clattering tread of armed men : — at times 
A shriller cry, that yelled out, "Death to Richelieu !" 

Rich. — Speak not of me; thy country is in danger I 
Th' adjoining room — So, so — a separate treason ! 
The one thy ruin, France ! — the meaner crime, 
Left to their tools — my murder ! 

Fran. — Baradas 

BB 3 



374 APPENDIX 

Questioned me close — demurr'd — until, at last, 
O'erruled by Orleans — -gave the packet — told me 
That life and death were in the scroll. — This gold — 

Rich. — Gold is no proof 

Fran. — And Orleans promised thousands, 
When Bouillon's trumpets in the streets of Paris 
Rang out the shrill answer: hastening from the house, 
My footstep in the stirrup, Marion stole 
Across the threshold, whispering, " Lose no moment 
Ere Richelieu have the packet : tell him, too — 
Murder is in the winds of night, and Orleans 
Swears, ere the dawn the Cardinal shall be clay." 
She said, and trembling fled within : when lo ! 
A hand of iron griped me l t Thro' the dark 
Gleamd the dim shadow of an armed man : 
Ere I could draw, the prize was wrested from me, 
And a hoarse voice gasp'd — " Spy, I spare thee, for 
This steel is virgin to thy lord !" — with that 
He vanish'd. — Scared, and trembling for thy safety, 
I mounted, fled, and, kneeling at thy feet, 
Implore thee to acquit my faith — but not, 
Like him, to spare my life, 

Rich. — Who spake of life? 
I bade thee grasp that treasure as thine honour — 
A jewel worth whole hecatombs of lives ! 
Begone! redeem thine honour! Back to Marion — 
Or Baradas — or Orleans — track the robber — 
Regain the packet — or crawl on to age — 
Age and gray hairs like mine — and know, thou hast lost 
That which had made thee great and saved thy country. 
See me not till thou'st bought the right to seek me. 
Away ! Nay, cheer thee ! thou hast not fail'd yet — 
There s no such word as "fail!" 

Fran. — Bless you, my Lord, 
For that one smile ! Ill wear it on my heart 
To light me back to triumph. 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 375 



Rich. — The poor youth ! 
An elder had ask'd life! I love the young! 
For as great men live not in their own time 
But the next race, — so in the young my soul 
Makes many Eichelieus. He will win it yet! 



Fourth Scene. — Gardens of the Louvre, 

Enter Francois. 

Fran. — All search, as yet, in vain for Mauprat ! Not 
At home since yesternoon — a soldier told me 
He saw him pass this way with hasty strides; 
Should he meet Baradas they'd rend it from him — 
And then — benignant Fortune smile upon me! 
I am thy son ! If thou desert'st me now, 
Come Death, and snatch me from disgrace. But no! 
There's a great Spirit ever in the air 
That from prolific and far-spreading wings 
Scatters the seeds of honour — yea, the walls 
And moats of castled forts, the barren seas, 
The cell wherein the pale-eyed student holds 
Talk with melodious science — all are sown 
With everlasting honours, if our souls 
Will toil for fame as boors for bread ■ 

Enter De Mauprat. 

J)e Mawp. — Oh, let me — 
Let me but meet him foot to foot — I'll dig 
The Judas from his heart ; — albeit the King 
Should o'er him cast the purple ! 

Fran. — Mauprat ! hold : • — 
Where is the 

DeMaup.— Well! What would'st thou? 

Fran. — The despatch! 
The packet. Look on me — I serve the Cardinal — 

B B 4 



376 APPENDIX. 

You know me. Did you not keep guard last night 
By Marion's hou«e? 

De Maup. — I did : — no matter now ! 
They told me he was here ! 

Fran. — O joy ! quick — quick — 
The packet thou didst wrest from me? 

De Maup. — The packet? 
What, art thou he I dcem'd the Cardinal's spy 
(Dupe that I was) — and overhearing Marion — 

Fran. — The same — restore it ! haste ! 

De Maup. — I have it not : 
Methought it but revealed our scheme to Richelieu, 
And, as we mounted, gave it to 

Enter Bar ad as. 

Stand back ! 

Now, villain ! now, I have thee ! 

( To Francois.) — Hence, sir ! Draw ! 

Fran. — Art mad? the King's at hand! leave him to 
Richelieu! 
Speak — the despatch — to whom — 

De Maup. {Dashing him aside, and rushing to Baradas.) — 
Thou triple slanderer! 
I'll set my heel upon thy crest! 

Fran. — Fly — rly! 
The King! 

Enter, at one. side, Louis, Orleans, De Beringhen, 

courtiers, SfC, at the other, the guards hastily. 
Louis. — Swords drawn, before our very palace ! 
Have our laws died with Richelieu? 

Bar. — Pardon, sire, — 
My crime but self-defence. — {Aside to King.) It is De 
Man prat! 
Louis. — Dare he thus brave us? 

[Baradas goes to the guard and gives a warrant] 
De Maw. — Sire in the Cardinal's name — 



DRAMATIC PIECES. Cil 

Bar. — Seize him — disarm — to the Bastille! 

[De Mauprat seized, struggles with the guard — Francois 
restlessly endeavouring to pacify and speak to him — 
uhen the gates open.'] 

Enter Kichelieu and J oseph, followed by arquebusiers, 

Bar.— The dead 
Return'd to life ! 

Louis. — What! a mock death! this tops 
The infinite of insult. 

De Maup. (breaking from guards.)— Priest and hero ! 
For you are both — protect the truth ! 

Mich.— What's this ? 

[Taking the writ from guard.] 

De Ber.—~F act in philosophy. Foxes have got 
Nine lives as well as cats ! 

Bar. — Be firm, my liege. 

Louis. — I have assumed the sceptre — I will wield it ! 

Joseph. — The tide runs counter — there '11 be shipwreck 
somewhere. 

[Baradas and Orleans keep close to the King — whis- 
pering and prompting him, when Richelieu speaks.] 

Bich. — High treason — Faviaux i still that stale pretence ! 
My liege, bad men (aye, Count, most knavish men !) 
Abuse your royal goodness. For this soldier 
France hath none braver— and his youth's hot folly, 
Misled (by whom your Highness may conjecture !)— 
Is long since cancell'd by a loyal manhood. 
I, sire, have pardoned him. 

Louis. — And we do give. 
Your pardon to the winds. Sir, do your duty ! 

Bich. — What, sire ? you do not know — Oh, pardon me— 
You know not yet, that this brave, honest heart, 
Stood between mine and murder ! Sire ! for my sake — 



378 APPENDIX. 

For your old servant's sake — undo this wrong. 
See, let me rend the sentence. 

Louis. — At your peril ! 
This is too much. — Again, sir, do your duty ! 

Hick. — Speak not, hut go : — I would not see young Valour 
So humbled as grey Service ! 

De Maup. — Fare you well 1 
Save Julie, and console her. 

Fran, (aside to De Mauprat ) — The despatch ! 
Your fate, foes, life, hang on a word ! to whom ? 

De Maup.— To Huguet. 

Fran. Hush — keep council ! silence ! — hope ! 

[Exeunt De Mauprat and guard.] 

Bar. (aside to Francois). — Has he the packet ? 
Fran. — He will not reveal — 
(Aside.) Work, brain ! beat, heart ! " There's no such word 
asfaiir [Exit Francois.] 

Bich. (fiercely.) — Room, my lords, room ! The minister 
of France 
Can need no intercession with the King. 

[They fallback.'] 

Louis. — What means this false report of death, Lord Car- 
dinal ? 

Bick. — Are you then anger'd, sire, that I live still ? 

Louis. — No ; but such artifice — 

Bich. — Not mine : — look elsewhere ! 
Louis — my castle swarm'd with the assassins. 

Bar. (advancing). — We have punish'd them already. 
Huguet now 
In the Bastille. Oh ! my Lord, we were prompt 
To avenge you — we were — 

Bich. — We ? Ha ! ha ! you hear, 
My liege ! — What page, man, in the last court grammar 
Made you a plural ? Count, you have seized the hireling i— 
Sire, shall I name the master? 



DRAMATIC PIECES, 379 

Louis.—* Tush ! my lord, 
The old contrivance : — ever does your wit 
Invent assassins, — that ambition may 
Slav rivals — 

Rick. — Rivals, sire ! in what ? 
Service to Trance ! I have none! Lives the man 
Whom Europe, paled before your glory, deems 
Rival to Armand Richelieu ? 

Louis. — What, so haughty ? 
Remember, he who made can unmake. 

Rich. — Never 1 
Never ! Your anger can recall your trust, 
Annul my office, spoil me of my lands, 
Rifle my coffers, — but my name — my deeds, 
Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre ! 
Pass sentence on me, if you will ; from kings, 
Lo, I appeal to Time ! Be just, my liege — 
I found your kingdom rent with heresies 
And bristling with rebellion ; lawless nobles 
And breadless serfs ; England fomenting discord; 
Austria — her clutch on your dominion ; Spain 
Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind 
To armed thunderbolts. The arts lay dead, 
Trade rotted in your marts, your armies mutinous, 
Your treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke 
Your trust? so be it ! and I leave you sole, 
Supremest monarch of the mightiest realm, 
From Ganges to the Icebergs. Look without — 
No foe not humbled ! Look within ! the arts 
Quit, for our schools, their old Hesperides, 
The golden Italy ! while throughout the veins 
Of your vast empire flows, in strengthening tides, 
Trade, the calm health of nations ! Sire, I know 
Your smoother courtiers please you best — nor measure 
Myself with them, — yet sometimes I would doubt 
If statesmen rock'd and dandled into power 
Could leave such legacies to kings ! 



380 APPENDIX. 

Louis. — Enough ! 
Your eminence mast excuse a longer audience. 
To your own palace. — For our conference this 
Nor place — nor season. 

Rich. — Good, my liege, for Justice, 
All place a temple, and all season, summer ! 
Do you deny me justice? Saints of heaven ! 
He turns from me ! Do you deny me justice? 
For fifteen years, while in these hands dwelt empire, 
The humblest craftsman — the obscurest vassal — » 
The very leper shrinking from the sun, 
Tho' loathed by charity, might ask for justice ! 
Not with the fawning tone and crawling mien 
Of some I see around you — counts and princes — 
Kneeling for favours ; — but, erect and loud, 
As men who ask man's rights ! my liege, my Louis, 
Do you refuse me justice — audience even — 
In the pale presence of the baffled Murther? 

Louis. — Lord Cardinal — one by one you have sever' d from 
me 
The bonds of human love — all near and dear 
Mark'd out for vengeance — exile or the scaffold. 
You find me now amidst my trustiest friends, 
My closest kindred ; — you would tear them from me ; 
They murder you forsooth, since me they love. 
Enough of plots and treasons for one reign ! 
Home ! Home ! and sleep away these phantoms ! 

Rich. — Sire ! 

I patience, Heaven ! sweet Heaven ! Sire, from the foot 

Of that great throne these hands have raised aloft 
On an Olympus, looking down on mortals 
And worshipp'd by their awe — before the foot 
Of that high throne, — spurn you the grey-hair'd man 
Who gave you empire — and now sues for safety ? 

Louis. — No : — when we see your eminence in truth 
At the foot of the throne — well listen to you. 

[Exit Louis.] 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 381 

Orleans, — Saved ! 

Bar. — For this, deep thanks to Julie and to MaupratI 
Rich. — My Lord de Baradas — I pray your pardon — 
You are to be my successor ! your hand, sir ! 
Bar. {aside.) — What can this mean ? 
Rich. — It trembles, see ! it trembles ! 
The hand that holds the destinies of nations 
Ought to shake less ! Poor Baradas ! poor France ! 

Bar. — Insolent 

[Exeunt De Baradas and Court.'] 
Rich. — Joseph — Did you hear the King? 
Joseph. — I did — there's danger! Had you been less 

haughty 

Rich.— And suffer'd slaves to chuckle— "See the Car- 
dinal — 
How meek his eminence is to-day " — I tell thee 
This is a strife in which the loftiest look 

Is the most subtle armour 

Joseph. — But ■ 

Rich. — Xo time 
For ifs and buts — I will accuse these traitors! 
Francois shall witness that De Baradas 
Gave him the secret missive for De Bouillon, 
And told him life and death were in the scroll. 
I will— I wiH— 

Joseph. — Tush! Francois is your creature; 
So they will say, and laugh at you! — your witness 
Must be that same despatch. 
Rich. — Away to Marion ! 

Joseph. — I have been there — she is seized — removed — im- 
prisoned — 
By the count's orders. 

Rich. — Goddess of bright dreams, 
My country, shalt thou lose me now, when most 
Thou need'st thy worshipper? My native land! 
Let me but ward this dagger from thy heart, 
And die — but on thy bosom! 



382 APPENDIX. 



SCENE FROM THE COMEDY OF " MONEY." — 

BULWER. 

[In dialogues like the following, which are supposed to be 
copies of the conversation of ordinary life, the style of the 
speaker should be easy, animated, unrestrained, and free from 
effort and declamation. Practice of this kind will tend to 
give grace and variety to his elocution.] 

Scene — Evelyn's house in London. 

Evelyn, a rich man of fashion — Stout and Glossmore, 
violent politicians of opposite parties — Sharp, a lawyer. 

Enter Evelyn, meeting Stout, who comes in out of breath, 
with haste — Siiaiip is seated at a desk. 

Evelyn. — Stout, you look heated ! 

Stout (with great eagerness, but pompously'). — I hear 
you've just bought the great Groginhole property. 

Evelyn. — It is true. Sharp says it's a bargain. 

Stout. — Well, my dear friend Hopkins, member for Grog- 
inhole, can't live another month — excellent creature, the 
dearest friend I have in the world — but the interests of man- 
kind forbid regret for individuals ! Popkins intends to start 
for the borough the instant Hopkins is dead ! — your interest 
will secure his election. Now is your time < put yourself 
forward in the march of enlightenment! — By all that's bi- 
goted, here comes Glossmore ! 

Enter Glossmore. 

Gloss, (eagerly.) — So lucky to find you at home ! Hop- 
kins, of Groginhole, is not long for this world. Popkins, the 
brewer, is alrne,dy canvassing underhand (so very ungentle- 
man-like !). Keep your interest for young Lord Cipher — a 
most valuable candidate. This is an awful moment — the coa- 
stitution depends on his return ! Vote for Cipher I 



DKAMATIC PIECES. 883 

Stout — Popkins is your man. 

Evelyn (musing). — Cipher and Popkins — Popkins and 
Cipher. Enlightenment and Popkins — Cipher and the Con- 
stitution ! I am puzzled ! Stout, I am not known at Grog- 
inhole. 

Stout. — Your property's known there ! 

Evelyn. — But purity of election — independence of voters. — 

Stout. — To be sure : Cipher bribes abominably. Frustrate 
his schemes — preserve the liberties of the borough — turn every 
man out of his house who votes against enlightenment and 
Popkins. 

Evelyn. — Eight ! down with those who take the liberty to 
admire any liberty except our liberty ! That is liberty ! 

Gloss. — Cipher has a stake in the country — will have fifty 
thousand a-year — Cipher will never give a vote without con- 
sidering beforehand how people of fifty thousand a-year will 
be affected by the motion. 

Evelyn. — Eight : for as without law there would be no pro- 
perty, so to be the law for property is the only proper property 
of law ! That is law ! 

Stout. — Popkins is all for economy : there's a sad waste of 
the public money — they give the Speaker five thousand a-year, 
when I've a brother-ill law who takes the chair at the vestry, 
and who assures me confidentially he'd consent to be Speaker 
for half the money. 

Gloss. — Enough, Mr. Stout. Mr. Evelyn has too much at 
stake for a leveller. 

Stout. — And too much sense for a bigot. 

Gloss. — A bigot, sir ! 

Stout. — Yes, a bigot ! 

[Puts his hat on, and with his hands in his pockets 
looks fiercely at Glossmore.] 

Evelyn (laughing). — Mr. Evelyn has no politics at all. 
Did you ever play at battledore ? 

Both. — Battledore! 

Evelyn. — Battledore — that is, a contest between two par- 
ties : both parties knock about something with singular skill 



38 4 APPENDIX. 

— something is kept up — high — low — here — there — every- 
where — nowhere ! How grave are the players ! how anxious 
the bystanders ! how noisy the battledores ! But, when this 
something falls to the ground, only fancy — it's nothing bat 
cork and feather ! — Go and play by yourselves — I'm no hand 
at it. 

Stout (aside). — Sad ignorance ! Aristocrat ! 

Gloss, (aside.) — Heartless principles ! Parvenu ! 

Stout. — Then ycu don't go against us ? I'll bring Popkins 
to-morrow. 

Gloss. — Keep yourself free till I present Cipher to you. 

Stout. — I must go to inquire after Hopkins. The return 
of Popkins will be an era in history. [Goes out.'] 

Gloss. — I must go to the club : the eyes of the country 
are upon Groginhole. If Cipher mil, the constitution is 
gone. [Goes out.'] 

Evelyn. — All parties alike ! nothing but money ! Money 
versus Man !— Sharp, come here — let me look at you. (Sharp 
rises from the desk.) — You are my agent, my lawyer, my 
man of business. I believe you honest; — but what is ho- 
nesty ? — where does it exist ? in what part of us ? 

Sharp. — In the heart, I suppose, sir. 

Evelyn. — Mr. Sharp, it exists in the breeches' pocket ! Ob- 
serve, I lay this piece of yellow earth on the table — I contem- 
plate you both ; — the man there — the gold here. Now, there 
is many a man in those streets as honest as you are, who 
moves, thinks, feels, and reasons as well as we do ; excellent 
in form, imperishable in soul ; who, if his pockets were three 
days empty, would sell thought, reason, body, and soul too, 
for that little coin ! Is that the fault of the man ? No ! it is 
the fault of mankind. God made man ; behold what mankind 
has made a god ! By the bye, Sharp, send a hundred pounds 
to the poor bricklayer whose house was burnt down yesterday. 

Sharp.— -Yes, sir. 

Evelyn. — Well, man, don't stand gaping there : have you 
no bowels ? Go and see to it immediately. 

\They go out at opposite sides."] 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 385 



SCENE FROM "THE POOR GENTLEMAN."— 

COLMAN. 

[To this dialogue, the same observations as those which 
preceded the last apply ; with this addition, that the eccentric 
peculiarities of Ollapod must be marked by a brisk utterance 
and a comic manner.] 

Characters : Sir Chaeles Cropland — Warner, his 
Steward — Ollapod. 

War. — Your honour is right welcome into Kent. I am 
proud to see Sir Charles Cropland on his estate again. I 
hope you mean to stay on the spot for some time, Sir Charles ? 

Sir C. — A very tedious time — three days, Mr. Warner. 

War. — Ah, good sir ! things would prosper better if you 
honoured us with your presence a little more. I wish you 
lived entirely upon the estate, Sir Charles. 

Sir C. — Thank you, Warner ; but modern men of fashion 
find it devilish difficult to live upon their estates. 

War. — The country about you so charming ! 

Sir C. — Look ye, Warner : I must hunt in Leicestershire — 
for that's the thing. In the frosts, and the spring months, I 
must be in town, at the clubs — for that's the thing. In 
summer, I must be at the watering-places — -for that's the 
thing. Now, Warner, under these circumstances, how is it 
possible for me to reside upon my estate? Eor my estate 
being in Kent 

War. — The most beautiful part of the country ! 

Sir C. — Hang beauty ! We don't mind that in Leicester- 
shire. My estate, I say, being in Kent- 

War. — A land of milk and honey ! 

Sir C. — I hate milk and honey ! 

War. — A land of fat ! 

Sir C. — Melt your fat ! Listen to me ; my estate being 
in Kent 

War.—- So woody ! 

Sir C. — Burn the wood ! No, that's wrong — for it's con- 
venient— I am come on purpose to cut it. 

c c 



386 APPENDIX. 

War. — Ah ! I was afraid so ! Dice on the table, and then, 
the axe to the root ! Money lost at play, and then, good 
lack ! the forest groans for it. 

Sir C. — But you are not the forest, and why the deuce do 
you groan for it? 

War.— I heartily wish, Sir Charles, you may not encumber 
the goodly estate. Your worthy ancestors had views for 
their posterity. 

Sir C. — And I shall have views for my posterity: I shall 
take especial care the trees sha'nt intercept their prospect, 
In short, Mr. Warner, I must have three thousand pounds in 
three days. Fell timber to that amount, immediately. 'Tis 
my peremptory order, sir. 

War. — I shall obey you, Sir Charles; but 'tis with a heavy 
heart. Forgive an old servant of the family, if he grieves to 
see you forget some of the duties for which society has a 
claim upon you. 

Sir C — What do you mean by duties? 

War. — Duties, Sir Charles, which the extravagant man of 
property can never fulfil: such as to support the dignity of 
an English landholder, for the honour of old England; to 
promote the welfare of his honest tenants ; and to succour 
the industrious poor, who naturally look up to him for assist- 
ance. But I shall obey you, Sir Charles. [Exit.'] 

Sir C. — A tiresome old blockhead! — But where is this 
Ollapod? His jumble of physic and shooting may enliven 
me; and to a man of gallantry, in the country, his intelligence 
is by no means uninteresting, nor his services inconvenient. 

Enter Ollapod. 

Ah ! Ollapod ! 

Oil. — Sir Charles, I have the honour to be your slave ! 
Hope your health is good. Been a hard winter here — sore 
tnroats were plenty — so were woodcocks. Flushed four 
couple one morning, in a half-mile walk from our town, to 
cure Mrs. Quarles of a quinsey. May coming on soon, Sir 
Charles — season of delight, love, and campaigning! Hope 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 387 

you come to sojourn, Sir Charles. Should'nt be always on 
the wing — that's being too flighty. {Laughing.) He! he! 
he! Do you take, good sir? do you take? 

Sir C. — Oh, yes, I take. But, by the cockade in your hat, 
Ollapod, you have added lately, it seems, to your avocations. 

Oil. — He! He! Yes, Sir Charles. I have now the honour 
to be cornet in the volunteer association corps of our town. 
It fell out unexpected — pop, on a sudden; like the going off 
of a field-piece, or an alderman in an apoplexy. 

Sir C. — Explain. 

OIL — Happening to be at home — rainy day — no going 
out to sport, blister, shoot, nor bleed — was busy behind the 
counter. — You know my shop, Sir Charles — Galen's Head 
over the door — new gilt him last week, by the bye — looks 
as fresh as a pill. 

Sir C. — Well, no more on that head now. Proceed. 

Oil. — On that head! {Laughing.) He! he! he! That's 
very well — very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir — I owe 
you one ! — Churchwarden Posh, of our town, being ill of an 
indigestion, from eating three pounds of measly pork at a 
vestry dinner, I was making up a cathartic for the patient; 
when who should strut into the shop but Lieutenant Grains, 
the brewer, sleek as a dray-horse — in a smart scarlet jacket, 
tastily turned up with a rhubarb-coloured lapelle! I confess 
his figure struck me. I looked at him, as I was thumping the 
mortar, and felt instantly inoculated with a military ardour. 

Sir C. — Inoculated! I hope your ardour was of a favourable 
sort. 

Oil. — Ha! ha! That's very well— very well, indeed! — 
Thank you, good sir — I owe you one! We first talked of 
shooting — he knew my celebrity that way, Sir Charles. I 
told him, the day before, I had killed six brace of birds. I 
thumped on at the mortar. — We then talked of physic; I 
told him, the day before, I had killed — lost, I mean, six brace 
of patients. I thumped on at the mortar, eyeing him all the 
while; for he looked devilish flashy, to be sure; and I felt an 
itching to belong to the corps. The medical and military 

2 



388 APPENDIX. 

both deal in d eath, you know — so, 'twas natural. He ! he ! — 
Do you take, good sir? do you take? 

Sir C. — Take ! — Oh, nobody can miss. 

Oil. — He then talked of the corps itself; said it was sickly; 
and if a professional person would administer to the health of 
the association, dose the men, and drench the horses, he could, 
perhaps, procure him a cornetcy. 

Sir C. — Well, you jumped at the offer? 

Oil. — Jumped! I jumped over the counter; kicked down 
Churchwarden Posh's cathartic into the pocket of Lieutenant 
Grains' smart scarlet jacket, tastily turned up with a rhubarb- 
coloured lapelle; embraced him and his offer; and I am now 
Cornet Ollapod, apothecary, at the Galen's Head, of the Asso- 
ciation Corps of Cavalry, at your service ! 

Sir C. — I wish you joy of your appointment. You may 
now distil water for the shop from the laurels you gather in 
the field. 

OIL — Water for — Oh! laurel- water. He! he! Come, 
that's very well — very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir — 
I owe you one! Why, I fancy fame will follow, when the 
poison of a small mistake I made has ceased to operate. 

Sir C. — A mistake ! 

Oil — Having to attend Lady Kitty Carbuncle, on a grand 
field-day, I clapped a pint bottle of her ladyship's diet-drink 
into one of my holsters, intending to proceed to the patient, 
after the exercise was over. I reached the martial ground, 
and jalaped — galloped, I mean — wheeled, and flourished, 
with great eclat; but when the word "Fire!" was given, 
meaning to pull out my pistol, in a deuce of a hurry, I pre- 
sented, neck foremost, the diet-drink of Lady Kitty Carbuncle; 
and the medicine being, unfortunately, fermented, by the jolt- 
ing of my horse, it forced out the cork, with a prodigious pop, 
full in the face of my gallant commander. 

Sir C— Ha! ha! ha! A mistake, indeed. 

Oil. — Rather awkward! — But, Sir Charles, excuse me — 
your servant! I must march — patients impatient. You 
take? 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 389 

Sir C. — O yess and so will they, I fancy, before you've 
done with them. 

Oil. — Ha ! physic — certainly ! Salts, rhubarb, senna, colo- 
quinticla, scanimony, gamboge. Good, good! thank you, 
good sir; I owe you one. [They go out on opposite siles.~\ 



HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON LIFE AND DEATH.- 
Shakspeake. 

[In the deep tone of solemn reflection.] 

To be — or not to be? — that is the question! 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, — 
Or, to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And by opposing end them! — To die? — to sleep: 
No more : and by a sleep to say we end 
The heart- ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to: — 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish'd! — To die, — to sleep: — 
To sleep ? — perchance to dream : aye, there's the rub : 
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause ! There's the respect 
Which makes calamity of so long life : 
For who would bear the whips and scorns o' the time, 
The oppressor's wrong, the pr@ud man's contumely 9 
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, 
The insolence of office, and the spurns 
Which patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin? — Who would fardles bear, 
To groan and sweat under a weary life, 
But that the dread of something after death — 
That undiscover'd country from whose bourne 
No traveller returns — puzzles the will, 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
c c 8 



390 APPENDIX. 

Than fly to others that we know not of. — 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us ail. 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action. 



NIGHT SOLILOQUY IN VENICE.— Byron. 

Scene — Palace of the Patrician Lioni. 

Lioni, laying aside his cloak and mask. 

I will to rest, right weary of this revel, 
The gayest we have held, for many moons. 
And yet, I know not why, it cheer'd me not; 
There came a heaviness across my heart, 
"Which, in the lightest movement of the dance, 
Oppress'd me, 

And through my spirit chilled my blood, until 
A damp, like death, rose o'er my brow; I strove 
To laugh the thought away, but 'twould not be; 
So that I left the festival before 
It reached its zenith, and will woo my pillow 
Eor thoughts more tranquil, or forgetfulness. — 

I will try 
Whether the air wilf calm my spirits : 'tis 
A goodly night: the cloudy wind which blew 
Prom the Levant, hath crept into its cave, 
And the broad moon has brightened. — What a stillness! 
And what a contrast with the scene I left ; 
Where the tall torches' glare, and silver lamps' 
More pallid gleam along the tap'stried walls, 
Spread over the reluctant gloom which haunts 
Those vast and dimly-latticed galleries, 
A dazzling mass of artificial light, 
Which showed all things, but nothing as they were I 

Around me are the stars and waters, — 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 391 

Worlds mirrored in the ocean, goodlier sight 
Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass ; 
And the great element, which is to space 
What ocean is to earth, spreads its blue depths, 
Softened with the first breathing of the spring; 
The high moon sails upon her beauteous way, 
Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls 
Of those tall piles, and sea-girt palaces, 
Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts, 
Fraught with the orient spoil of many marbles, 
Like altars ranged along the broad canal, 
Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed, 
Rear'd up from out the waters, scarce less strangely 
Than those more massy and mysterious giants 
Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics, 
Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have 
No other record. All is gentle: nought 
Stirs rudely; but, congenial with the night, 
Whatever walks, is gliding like a spirit. 
The tinkling of some vigilant guitars 
Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress, 
And cautious opening of the casement, showing 
That he is not unheard ; while her young hand, — 
Fair as the moonlight, of which it seems part, 
So delicately white, it trembles in 
The act of opening the forbidden lattice, 
To let in love through music — makes his heart 
Thrill like his lyre-strings at the sight ; — the dash 
Phosphoric of the oar, or rapid twinkle 
Of the far lights of skimming gondolas, 
And the responsive voices of the choir 
Of boatmen, answering back, with verse for verse — 
Some dusky shadow, chequering the Rialto — 
Some glimmering palace-roof, or tapering spire — 
Are all the sights and sounds w r hich here pervade 
The ocean-born and earth-commanding city. 
How sweet and soothing is the hour of calm ! 
C 4 



392 APPENDIX. 

I thank thee, Night ! for thou hast chased away 
Those horrid bodcments, which, amidst the throng, 
I could not dissipate, and — with the blessing 
Of thy benign and quiet influence — 
Now will I to my couch, although to rest 
Is almost wronging such a night as this. 



TRIAL— SCENE FROM "THE MERCHANT OF 
VENICE." — Shakspeare. 

Scene — A Court of Justice in Venice, 

The Duke, Magnificoes, Antonio, Bassanio, Graita.no, 
and Shylock. 

Duke. — Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, 
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
To the last hour of act ; and then, 'tis thought, 
Thou'lt show thy mercy, and remorse, more strange 
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty : 
And, where thou now exact'st the penalty 
(Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh), 
Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, 
But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, 
Forgive a moiety of the principal : 
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, 
That have of late so huddled on his back ; 
Enough to press a royal merchant down, 
And pluck commiseration of his state 
From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint, 
From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd 

To offices of tender courtesy. - 

We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 

Shy. — I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose; 
And by our holy sabbath have I sworn, 
To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
If you deny it, let the danger light 
Upon your charter and your city's freedom. 
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to haye 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 393 

A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 

Three thousand ducats ; I'll not answer that ; 

But say, it is my humour : is it answered ? 

What if my house be troubled with a rat, 

And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats 

To have it baned : — what are you answered yet ? 

Some men there are love not a gaping pig : 

Some, that are mad if they behold a cat ; 

Now for your answer : 

As there is no firm reason to be render'd, 

Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 

Why he a harmless, necessary cat ; 

So can I give no reason, nor I will not, 

More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing, 

I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 

A losing suit against him. Are you answered ? 

Bass. — This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
To excuse the current of thy cruelty, 

Shy, — I am not bound to please thee with my answer. 

Bass. — Do all men kill the things they do not love ? 

Shy. — Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? 

Bass. — Every offence is not a hate at first. 

Shy. — What, wouldst thou- have a serpent sting thee twice ? 

Ant. — I pray you, think you question with the Jew : 
You may as well go stand upon the beach, 
And bid the main flood bate his usual height ; 
You may as well use question with the wolf, 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ; 
You may as well — do any thing most hard, 
As seek to soften that (than which what's harder ?) — 
His Jewish heart : therefore I do beseech you, 
Make no more offers, use no further means, 
But, with all brief and plain conveniency, 
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 



394 APPENDIX. 

Bass. — Eor thy three thousand ducats here are six. ' 

Shy. — If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
Vfere in six parts, and every part a ducat, 
I would not draw them ; I would have my bond. 

Duke. — How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none ? 

Shy. — What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong ? 
You have among you many a purchas'd slave, 
Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules, 
You use in abject and in slavish parts, 
Because you bought them : — shall I say to you, 
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs : 
Why sweat they under burdens ? — let their beds 
Be made as soft as yours, let their palates 
Be season'd with such viands ? You will answer, 
The slaves are ours : — So do I answer you : 
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, 
Is dearly bought, is mine, and I will have it : 
If you deny me, fie upon your law. 
There is no force in the decrees of Venice. 
I stand for judgment : answer ; shall I have it ? 

Duke. — Upon my power, I may dismiss this court, 
Unless a learned doctor, 
Whom I have sent for to determine this, 
Come here to-day. — 
And here, I take it, is the doctor come. — 

Enter Portia, dressed like a Doctor of Laws. 

Duke. — Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court ? 

Tor. — I am informed throughly of the cause. 
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? 

Duke. — Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 

[ They stand forth.'} 

Tor. — Is your name Shylock ? 

Shy. — Shylock is my name. 

Tor. — Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 395 

Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. 
You stand within his danger, do you not ? 

Ant. — Aye, so he says. 

Por. — Do you confess the bond ? 

Ant— -I do. 

Por. — Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Shy. — On what compulsion must I ? tell me that 

Por. — The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven, 
Upon the place beneath ; it is twice bless'd ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown : 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings j 
But mercy is above the sceptred sway, 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself ; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 
When mercy seasons justice : therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 
That, in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation ; we do pray for mercy ; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. — I have spoke thus much, 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 
Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy. — My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Por. — Is he not able to discharge the money ? 

Bass. — Yes, here I tender it for him in the court ; 
Yea, thrice the sum ; if that will not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart ; 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 



396 APPENDIX. 

That malice bears down truth. And, I beseech you, 
Wrest once the law lo your authority ; 
To do a great right, do a little wrong : 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Por. — It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established : 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent ; 
And many an error, by the same example, 
Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 

Shy. (in an ecstacy of delight.} — A Daniel come to judg- 
ment ! yea, a Daniel ! — 
O wise young judge, how do I honour thee ! 

Por, — I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

Shy. — Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. [ Gives it'] 

Por. — Shy lock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee. 

Shy. — An oath, an oath ; I have an oath in heaven. 
Shall I lay perjury on my soul ? 
No, not for Venice. 

Por. — Why, this bond is forfeit ; 
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
Nearest the merchant's heart : — Be merciful ; 
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. — When it is paid according to the tenor. — 
It doth appear, you are a worthy judge ; 
Y<^n know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
Whereof you are a well- deserving pillar, 
Proceed to judgment ; by my soul I swear 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me ; I stay here on my bond. 

Ant — Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

Por. — Why, then, thus it is. 
You must prepare your bosom for his knife : — 

Sky. — O, noble judge ! O, excellent young man J 

IV. — For the intent and purpose of the law 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 39? 

Hath full relation to the penalty, 

Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

Shy. — 'Tis very true : O, wise and upright judge ! 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

Por. — Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. — Ay, his breast : 
So says the bond :— Doth it not, noble judge ? — 
Nearest his heart ; those are the very words. 

Por. — It is so. Are there balance here to weigh 
The flesh ? 

Shy. — I have them ready. 

[Produces the scales out of the folds of his cloak.'] 

Por. — Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 

Shy. — Is it so nominated in the bond ? 

Por. — It is not so express'd; but what of that? 
'Twere good you do so much for charity. 

Shy. — I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. 

Por. — Come, merchant, have you any thing to say? 

[Portia takes a seat near the Duke— Shylock stands musing.'] 

Ant. — But little; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd. 
Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well ! 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; 
For herein fortune shows herself more kind 
Than is her custom : it is still her use, 
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, 
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, 
An age of poverty; from which lingering penance 
Of such a misery doth she cut me off. 
Repent not you that you shall lose your friend, 
And he repents not that he pays your debt; 
For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. 

Shy. — We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

Por. (comes forward. ) — A pound of that same merchant's 
flesh is thine; 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 



398 APPENDIX. 

Shy. — Most rightful judge! 

Por. — And you must cut this flesh from off bis breast; 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shy. — Most learned judge ! — a sentence ; come, prepare. 

Por. — Tarry a little; there is something else. — 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; 
The words expressly are, a pound of flesh ; 
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; 
But, in the cutting of it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
Unto the state of Venice. 

Gra.— O, upright judge ! — Mark, Jew ! — a learned judge ! 

Shy. {tremulously.)— Is that the law ? 

Por. — Thyself shall see the act: 
For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. 

Gra. — O, learned judge! — Mark, Jew! — a learned judge! 

Shy. — I take this offer, then ; — pay the bond thrice, 
And let the Christian go. 

Bass. — Here is the money. 

Por.— Soft: 
The Jew shall have all justice; — soft ! — no haste; — 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gra. — O, Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! 

Por. — Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more, 
But just a pound of flesh; if thou tak'st more, 
Or less, than a just pound — be it but so much 
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple! nay, if the scale do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair — 
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 

Gra. — A second Daniel! a Daniel, Jew! 
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

Por Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture. 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 399 

Shy.— Give me my principal, and let me go, 

Bass. — I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 

Por. — He hathrefus'd it in the open court; 
He shall have merely justice, and his bond. 

Gra. — -A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel! — 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shy. — Shall I not barely have my principal? 

Por. — Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shy. — Why then the devil give him good of it! 
I'll stay no longer question. 

Por. — Tarry, Jew: 
The law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice — 
If it be prov'd against an alien, 
That by direct or indirect attempts, 
He seek the life of any citizen, 
The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, 
Shall seize on half his goods ; the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the Duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st: 
For it appears by manifest proceeding, 
That, indirectly, and directly too, 
Thou hast contrived against the very life 
Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurr'd 
The danger formerly by me rehears'd. — 
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke. 

[Retires to the Duke.~\ 

Gra. — Beg, that thou may'st have leave to hang thyself: 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 
Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge, 

Duke. — That thou shalt see the difference of oar spirit: 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it. 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's; 



400 APPENDIX. 

The other half comes to the general state, 
Which humbleness may drive into a fine. 

Por. {seated by the Duke.) — Aye, for the state; not for 
Antonio. 

Shy. — Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that: 
You take my house, when you do take the prop 
That doth sustain my house : you take my life, 
When you do take the means whereby I live. 

Por. — What mercy can you render him, Antonio? 

Gra. — A halter gratis; nothing else, for heaven's sake. 

Ant. — So please my lord the duke, and all the court, 
To quit the fine for one half of his goods ; 
I am content, so he will let me have 
The other half in use — to render it, 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter. 
Two things provided more — that, for this favour, 
He presently become a Christian ; 
The other, that he do record a gift, 
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, 
Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. 

Duke. — He shall do this; or else I do recant 
The pardon that I late pronounced here. 

Por. — Art thou contented, Jew? What dost thou say? 

Shy. — I am content. — 
I pray you, give me leave to go from hence ; 
I am not well ; send the deed after me, 
And I will sign it. 

Duke. — Get thee gone, but do it. 

Gra. — In christening thou shalt have two godfathers; 
Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more, 
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. \Exit Shylock.] 

Duke. — Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 

[7b Portia,] 

Pa*\ — I humbly do desire your grace of pardon j 
I must away this night toward Padua, 
And it is meet I presently set forth. 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 401 

Duke. — I am sorry that your leisure serves you not. 
Antonio, gratify this gentleman, 
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 

\The Court breaks up— all go out'] 



SCENE FEOM "HENRY VIH."— Sbakspeare. 

[The tone of Wolsey should be that of a proud spirit, 
broken, but not subdued; and at last agonised with remorse. 
That of Cromwell should mark the humble, but faithful and 
sympathising friend.] 

Wolsey — (atone). 

Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness! — 
This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
And — when he thinks, good easy man! full surely 
His greatness is a ripening — nips his root, 
And then he falls as I do. I have ventured, 
Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders, 
These many summers in a sea of glory; 
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me; and now has left me, 
"Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me. 
Vain pomp, and glory of the world, I hate ye ! 
I feel my neart new open'd: 0, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on prince's favours? 
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and our ruin, 
More pangs and fears than war or women nave ; 
D D 



402 APPENDIX. 

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope again ! — 

Enter Cromwell. 

Wol. — Why, how now, Cromwell? 

Crom. — I have no power to speak, sir. 

Wol — What, amazed 
At my misfortunes ? Can thy spirit wonder, 
A great man should decline ? Nay, an' you weep, 
I'm fallen indeed. 

Crom. — How does your grace? 

Wol-— Why, well; 
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
I know myself now ; and I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities, 
A still and quiet conscience. 

Crom. — I'm glad your grace has made that right use of it 

Wol — I hope I have : I'm able now, methinks, 
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, 
To endure more miseries and greater far, 
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. — 
What news abroad? 

Crom. — The heaviest and worst 
Is your displeasure with the king. 

Wol — God bless him ! 

Crom. — The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen 
Lord Chancellor in your place. 

Wol. — That's somewhat sudden : — 
But he's a learned man. May he continue 
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice, 
For truth's sake and his conscience, that his bones, 
When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings* 
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on them I — - 
What more? 

Crom. — That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, 
Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 403 

WoL — That's news indeed! 

Crom. — Last, that the lady Anne, 
"Whom the king hath in secresy long married, 
This day was viewed in open as his queen, 
Going to chapel: and the voice is now 
Only about her coronation. 

Wol. — There was the weight that pull'd me down! Crom* 
well! 
The king has gone beyond me; all my glories, 
In that one woman, I have lost for ever: 
No sun shall ever usher forth my honours, 
Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
On my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell! 
I am a poor, fall'n man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master: seek the king: 
I have told him 

What and how true thou art ; he will advance thee : 
Some little memory of me will stir him 
(I know his noble nature) not to let 
Thy hopeful service perish too: — go, Cromwell! 

Crom. — O, my lord, 
Must I then leave you ? Must I needs forego 
So good, so noble, and so true a master ? — 
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord ! — 
The king shall have my service, but my prayers 
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours ! 

WoL — Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, 
Out of my honest truth, to play the woman. — 
Let's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell i 
And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of — say I taught thee — 
Say, Wolsey — that once trod the ways of glory, 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour — 
"Found thee a way out of his wreck to rise in ; 

D D 2 



404 APPENDIX. 

A sure and safe one, tho' thy master miss'd it ! 

Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: 

By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, 

The image of his maker, hope to win by't ? 

Love thyself last -, cherish those hearts that hate thee • 

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace 

To silence envious tongues. Be just and fear not: 

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 

Thy God's and truth's : then, if thou fall'st, 

Cromwell; thou fall'st a blessed martyr! — 
Lead me in ; 

There, take an inventory of all I have, 

To the last penny — 'tis the king's : my robe, 

And my integrity to Heaven, is all 

1 dare now call mine own. — O Cromwell, Cromwell! 
Had I but served my God with half the zeal 

I served my king, He would not, in mine age, 
Have left me naked to mine enemies! 

Crom. — Good sir, have patience. 

Wol— So I have. — Farewell 
The hopes of court ! My hopes in heaven do dwell ! 

[ They go out together.'] 



CATO'S SBEECH OVER HIS DEAD SON. —Addison. 

[With a heroic, but dignified expression.] 

Thanks to the gods ! my boy has done his duty. — 
Welcome, my son! Here set him down, my friends, 
Full in my sight ; that I may view at leisure 
The bloody corse, and count those glorious wounds. 
How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue?! 
Who would not be that youth ? — what pity is it 
That we can die but once to serve our country ! 
Why sits this sadness on your brow, my friends? 
I should have blush'd if Cato's house had stood 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 405 

Secure, and flourish'd in a civil war. — 

Porcius, behold thy brother ! and remember, 

Thy life is not thy own when Koine demands it ! 

When Eome demands ! — but Eome is now no more ! 

The Eoman empire's fall'n ! — (Oh ! curs'd ambition ! ) — 

Fall'n into Caesar's hands ! Our great forefathers 

Had left him nought to conquer but his country.- — 

* Porcius, come hither to me ! — Ah ! my son, 

Despairing of success, 

Let me advise thee to withdraw, betimes, 

To our paternal seat, the Sabine field, 

Where the great Censor toil'd with his own hands, 

And all our frugal ancestors were bless'd 

In humble virtues and a rural life. 

There live retired: content thyself to be 

Obscurely good.. 

When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, 

The post of honour is a private station ! * 

Farewell, my friends ! If there be any of you 

Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, 

Know, there are ships prepar'd by my command — 

Their sails already op'ning to the winds, — 

That shall convey you to the wish'd-for port. 

The conqueror draws near— once more, farewell ! 

If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet 

In happier climes, and on a safer shore, 

Where Csesar never shall approach us more ! 

There, the brave youth with love of virtue fired, 

Who greatly in his country's cause expired, 

Shall know he conquer'd ! The firm patriot there, 

Who made the welfare of mankind his care, 

Tho' still by faction, vice and fortune cross'd, 

Shall find the generous labour was not lost. 



* In recitation, the pupil may omit the lines between 
asterisks. 

D D 3 



: N D E X. 



Introduction - - - - -1 — 17 



Accent — 

Its connection with Pronunciation • . 44 
Correct application of the word and its popular 

acceptation (see Note) - - 73 

Its Force - - « * - 82 

Its connection with Emphasis « * 82 

Accentuation — 

False - - - - - 45 

Rhythmical— in Verse and Music - 174 — '178 

Affirmative Sentences ~ 

Rule of Inflection on - - - 77 

Alternative of a Question — 

Inflection - - - - 79 

Antithesis - 117—122 

Single Antithesis, and examples - - 117 

S> D 4 



408 INDEX. 



Kales for Inflection on - - - 117 

Examples - - - - -117 

Double Antithesis - - - - 118 

Implied Antithesis - - • - - 119 

Emphasis of - - - - - 120 

Series of - - - - - 137 

Pause in - - - - - 138 

Compound Inflections in 140 

Apposition - - - - - -115 

Rule of Inflection - - - - 1 1 5 

APtTICULATION - 19 — 51 

Tables of Articulation - - 46—51 

Atonios - - - - - -23 

Table of 31 

Exercise on - - - 34, 35 

Cadence ----- 183—186 

Harmonic - - - - - 184 

C^esural Pause - - - - - 1S1 

Compound Inflections - - - 140 — 146 

Rising and falling - - - - 1 40 
In Antithesis ----- 145 

Conditional Sentences - - - - 125 

Cumulative Emphaj s - 148 — 150 

Bn Asiatic Poetry - - - 182 — 208 

Remarks on the Reading of - - - 182 

Main Characteristics - - - - 182 

Expression in - - - - - 183 

What requisite to the Actor - - - 183 

Passionate Expression in - - - 183 



INDEX. 



409 



Dynamics, or Powers of Sound 

Terms, Sign, and Explanation of 
Their Force and Use - 



- 200 

- 200 

- 201 



Elementary Sounds - 

Distinction between Signs and Sounds - 
Tonics — Subtonics — Atonies - 
Diphthongal Sounds - 
Table of Tonic Elements 
Exercise on the Tonic Sonnds 
Table of Sub-Tonics and Atonies 
Exercise on the Subtonics and Atonies 
Value of the Elementary Sounds 

Elocution — 

Elements of - 
Principles of - 
An imitative Art - 

First Object of 
Poetical Elocution - 
Rhythmical Elocution - 
Dramatic Elocution - 



23 



20 
21 
35 
■ 25 

• 27 

• 29 

• 31 
34, 35 

• 36 



19 
151 
152 
152 
167 
181 
182 



Emphasis - 

Definition of - 

Different kinds of 

Of Sense - 

Rule for - 

Antithetical - 

Of Force - - - 

Double - 

Excess of Emphasis of Force - 

Cumulative - 

Energy, or Force 

Emphasis of Expression 
Energetic manner to be acquired 



81—92 

- 81 

- 86 

- 86 

- 87 

- 88 



-91. 148- 



91 

91 

-150 



196—204 

- 196 

- 196 



410 INDEX, 



Effects and Manifestations of Energy - - 197 

In Narration - - - - -201 

Examples for Exercise - - 202, 203 

Energy, Intonation, and Expression are kindred 

graces ----- 202 
Their Climax is Passion - - - 203 

Exclamation - - - - - 123 

Inflections on- - - - -123 

Expression, or Pause of Force - - 146 — 148 

Feeling and Passion - - - - 150 

Example in Brutus' Speech - - 165. 198 

Depends chiefly on Pitch - - - 187 

The vocal Imitation of Passion - - 187 

Of Monotone - - - - - 188 

Explanation of Musical Terms and Figures rased 
to mark Pitch, Force, and Time for Expres- 
sion ----- 200 
Exercise in - - - - - 212 
Of different Sentiments and Affections- 213 — 221 
Energetic - - - - - 221 

Force (see Energy). 

Gesture - 227—234 

Observations on - - - - 227 

For the Pulpit and the Bar - - 230—233 

Active - - - - - 232 

Demonstrative - - - - 232 

Position of the Body - 232 

Motion of the Limbs - 232. 234 

Expression of Face - 232.234 

Attitude - - • - 233 

Table of 234 

Remarks 234 



INDEX. 411 

Page 

Gymnastics (see Vocal Gymnastics). 

Harmonic Cadence - - - - 184 



Inflection - 


- 


- 


72 — 81 


Simple Inflections 


- 


- 


72 — 75 


How marked - 


- 


- 


- 73 


How to be distinguished by the Ear 


- 


- 74 


Inflections to mark the Sense 


- 


- 


- 76 


General Rules for 


- 


- 


- 77 


Affirmative sense 


- 


- 


- 77 


Negative 


- 


- 


- 77 


Imperative 


- 


- 


- 79 


Interrogative - 


- 


- 


- 79 


Suspension of Voice 


- 


- 


92 — 95 


Special Rules of Inflection 


- 


- 


96. 115 


Perspicuity- 


- 


- 


113—115 


Apposition 


- 


- 


- 115 


Antithesis 


- 


- 


117. 145 


Double Antithesis 


- 


- 


- 118 


Implied Antithesis 


- 


- 


- 119 


Emphasis of Antithesis 


- 


- - 


- 120 


Exclamation - 


- 


- 


- 123 


Exclamatory Sentence 


- 


- 


- 123 


Inverted Sentences 


- 


- 


- 123 


Conditional Sentences 


- 


- 


- 125 


Serial Sentences 


- 


- 


- 125 


Rules for Inflection of Series 


- 


- 


- 126 


Compound Inflections 


- 


- 


140—146 


How marked, and their Use and Force 


- 140 


Melody of Inflection (in Poetry) 


- 


- 183 


Cadence of - 


- 


« 


- 184 


Smoothness 


- 


» 


- 185 


Alternation of - 


- 


- 


- 185 


Harmonic Cadence by 


- 


- 


- i85 



412 INDEX. 

Page 
Interrogative Sentences — 

Inflection on - - - - 79 

Exceptions - - - - 79 

Intonation ----- 162 — 169 

Exercise on Intonation - - - J 05 

Process of - - - - 163 

Exercise in - - - 165 

Intonation of Poetry - «« - - 166 

Of poetical Prose - - - - 167 

Orotund - - - - - 169 

Inverted Sentences - - - 123,124 

Inflection on Members of - 123 

Lisping — 

What, and its Cure - - • 36 



Loose Sentences 


- 


- 


92- 


-102 


To give Compactness 


to 


- 


- 


99 


Melody and Cadence 


_ 


• 


183- 


-186 


Of Rhythm in reading Poetry - 


- 


- 


181 


Cadence 


- 


- 


- 


184 


Harmonic Cadence 


- 


" 


- 


184 


Monotone 


m 


. 


188- 


-190 


Definition of - 


- 


- 


- 


188 


Its Expression 


- 


- 


- 


188 


Exercise in 


- 


- 


- 


188 


Music — 










Of the Voice - 


• • 


- 


- 


74 


Of Inflection - 


. 


- 


- 


184 


Of Cadence 


• 


- 


- 


184 



INDEX. 


413 


TlfT rroT/i A T 


Page 


JVIUSICAE 

Score to denote Inflections, Rhythm, &c. 


84. 141— 


143. 176. 179. 188 


Cadence of Inflection - 


- J84 


Terms and Marks used 


200, 201 


Dynamics, &c. - 


- 201 


Negative Sentences — 




Inflection on - 


- 77 


Series - 


- 135 


Orotund - - 


169—171 


What 


- 169 


Exercise in - 


- 170 


Its adaptation to Scriptural Reading, &c. 


- 171 


Parenthe sis- 


103—106 


Parenthetical matter - 


- 104 


How read - 


- 104 


Rules for Inflection of - 


- 104 



Passion — 

Power of Elocution to express Passion - - 1 62 

Expression of — in Dramatic Poetry - - 183 

General Expression of — by Pitch - - 190 

Expression of particular Passions - 213 — 221 

Practice (marked and noted for Tone) with ana- 
lysis of Expression proper to — 

Fear - - - - -213 

Anger - - - - - 214 

Despair - - - - 214 

Hope - - - - - 215 

Revenge - - - - 215 

Pity - - - - - 216 

Jealousy - - • - 217 

Melancholy - - - - 217 



414 INDEX. 

Page 

Cheerfulness - - - -218 

Joy - - - - - 218 
Love ----- 219 

Mirth - - - - - 219 

Fierce Tltreatenmg - - - 221 

Pause ----- 56—74 

Rhetorical Pauses - - - 56 

Number and Value of - - 57 

Short Pause - - - - 58 — 62 

Middle Pause - - - - 62 — 65 

Rest, or Full Pause - - - 05-67 

Long Pause - - - - 68 

Exercise on Pause (marked) - - 68 — 71 

Pause of Force - - - - 146 

Power of, and examples - - - 147 

Of Feeling - - - - - 148 

When to be used - - - - 148 

In Poetry, for Rhythm - - 172 — 181 

Periods and Loose Sentences - - 92 — 102 

General Rules - - - - 90 

Perspicuity ----- 113 — 115 

Phrases (Inter jectional) - - - - 123 

Pitch - - - - 190 — 196 

The main Constituent of Expression - - 190 

Middle Pitch - - - - 192 

High Pitch - - - - 193 

Low Pitch - - - - - J 94 
(See Orotund.') 

Poetical Extracts — 

Portia's Speech on Mercy - (Shaks.) - 111 



IXDEX. 4 1 5 









Pa?e 


Sabbath Morn 


- (Grabame) 


- 


181 


Happiness 


- (Pope) 


" 


1S5 


From the Tragedy of " Ion " 


- (Takourd) 


- 


139 


"Breathes there the man " 


- (Scott) 


- 


192 


Description of Prince Henry 


- (Shaks.) 


" 


202 


Hotspur's eagerness for battle 


- (Shaks.) 


- 


203 


Prospero's Invocation - 


- (Shaks.) 


- 


205 


Death of Sampson 


- (Milton) 


- 


206 


Boadicea 


- (Cowper) 


- 


209 


The Clime of the East 


- (Byron) 


- 


211 


The Passions 


- (Collins) 


- 


213 


Henry Y. before Harfleur 


- (Shaks.) 


- 


221 


Dying Gladiator 


- (Byron) 


" 


222 


Poetry — Poetical Elocution — 








Intonation of - 


- 


- 


156 


Imaginative Style 


- 


- 


167 


Poetical Prose - 


- 


- 


167 


Examples from Ossian and Burke 


157 


. 16S 


Reading Verse 


- 


- 


172 


Rhythm, &c. 


- 


- 


172 


Rhythmical Accentuat 


ion 


- 


173 


Measure of Verse 


- 


173- 


-182 


Rhythmical Reading - 


- 


- 


181 


Dsa3Iatic Poetry 


- 


- 


182 


Remarks on Reading 


- 


- 


182 


Melody and Cadence 


- 


- 


183 


Harmonic Cadence 


- 


- 


184 


General Instructions for the Inflection of Verse- 


185 


Marked Extract 


- (Pope) 


- 


1S5 


Practice in Rhythmical Reading 


- 


209 


Pbactice on 








Articulation 


- 


46 


—51 


Pronunciation - 


- 


52 


—44 


Pause - 


■» m 


68 


—71 



416 



INDEX. 



Page 

Pause, Inflection, and Emphasis - 103. Ill 

Part II, - - - - - 122 

Intonation - - - - -122 

Antithesis - - - 165. 205 — 208 

Poetical Elocution - - - - 167 

Orotund - - - - - 170 

Rhythmical Reading - - 181.209—212 

Monotone - - - - 188, 189 

Energy and Expression - - 213 — 223 

Pronominal Phrase ... io9 — 112 

Common Phrase (quasi- pronominal) - - 109 

Rules and Examples - 107 — 111 

In reply - - - - - 109 

Emphasis with - - - - 110 

Pronominal Series - - - - 138 



Pronominal Series 



138, 139 



Pronouns - 

Have no proper Inflection 
How governed in Inflection 



106—109 
« 107 
- 109 



Pronunciation 

Of the Letter H 
Erroneous Pronunciation 
Practice on - 



43,44 
32—42 
- 44 
52—54 



Prose Extracts — 

Sense, Taste, and Genius 
Extract from Ossian 



(Usher) 68—71 
- 167 



Quantity — 

How governed in the English Language - 173 

Distinction between our Language and the 

Greek and Latin - - - - 173 

The same, with reference to Rhythm - - 175 



INDEX. 417 

Page 

Rhetoric - - - - - f$l — 161 

Rhetorical Pauses - 56 — 71 

Khyme (see Poetry;. 

Iihythm (see Poetry). 

Ehymic al Beading — 

Exercise in •« - •• - 209 



Series — Serial Sentences - 


• 


- 


125- 


-138 


What are 


- 


- 


- 


- 


125 


Simple, and Compound 


• 


• 


- 


Ii!5 


Commencing, and 


Concluding - 


• 


- 


126 


Rules of Inflection 


on •• 


- 


- 


- 


126 


Simple Series 


- 


- 


- 


- 


126 


Division of Series 


- 


- 


« 


- 


128 


Compound 


- 


- 


- 


- 


131 


Irregular Series 


- 


- 


- 


- 


152 


Exercise on 


- 


- 


- 


- 


133 


Negative 




- 


- 


- 


135 


Interrogative - 


- 


* 


- 


- 


136 


Antithetical 


- 


- 


- 


- 


137 


Pronominal 


- 


- 


- 


- 


138 


Sentences (Exclamatory) - 


. 


• 


- 


1 03 


Inverted 


- 


- 


- 


- 


123 


Conditional 


- 


- 


- 


- 


125 


Serial 


- 


- 


• 


125- 


-128 



Sound (see Dynamics). 

Stammering — 

W r hat, and its Cure - - ~ 36 

E E 



418 INDEX. 



Sub-tonics - - - - - -23 

Table of - - - - 31 

Exercise on - - - 34, 3 5 

Syllables ---*».. 38 — 41 

Tonics - - - * > -* 23 

List of pure Tonics - - - 23 

Mixed or diphthongal Tonics - ■? 95, 23 

Table of Tonic Elements - - -27 

Exercise on the Tonics - - 27 

Practice on Articulation of • - 29 

Terminations - * - 38 — 41. 46, 51 

Contrast Tables - - - 50, 51 

Time 197. 201 

Verse - - - - - 172— -223 

Reading of - - - - 172 

Accented and Unaccented - - - 172 

Latin and Greek - - - - 173 

Feet - - - - - 173 

English - - - - - 175 

Iambics - - - - - 176 

Vocal Gymnastics - 227 — 231 
Practice recommended to strengthen tbe Lungs 

and improve the Voice - - - 229 

Voice — 

Human Voice a Musical Instrument - 72 

Inflection of- - - - -""3 

Suspension of - - . . 92 — 95 



INDEX. 419 



Education of- - - - -161 

Practice of - - - - 161 

Intonation - - - - - 162 

Economy of - - - - - 163 

Weak Voices - - - - -163 

How improved - - - - 1 63 

Inspiration - - - - -164 

Swell of - - - - - 165 

Pitch - - - - -190—196 

(See Intonation, Expression, Pitch.) 

Vowel Sounds - - - - 20 — 22 

Double Yowel Sounds - - -42 

Practice in Articulation of - - 46 — 51 



£ E 2 



421 



INDEX TO THE APPENDIX. 



PBOSE-BEADING. 

Page 

Death and Character of Queen Elizabeth (Hume) - 237 

Character of Maiy, Queen of Scots - (Bobertson) - 242 

Marie Antoinette - (Burke) - 245 

Dante — Milton - (Macaulay) - 246 

Vulgarity and Affectation - - (Hazlitt) - 249 

Establishment of Christianity - - (Milman) - 255 

Literary and Political Pursuits contrasted (Ward) - 260 

History and Piction in Literature - (Thackeray)- 266 

Mr. Gregsbury, M.P., and the Deputation (Dickens) - 271 



OBATOBICAL EXTBACTS. 

Evidence and Precedents in Law - (Erskine) - 281 

Extract from Mr. Mackintosh's Speech in Defence 
of M. Peltier - - - - - 283 

Satirical Extract from a Speech of Mr. Canning on the 
Address ------ 290 

Against Paine's "Age of Beason " - (Erskine) - 292 
Peroration of Lord Brougham's Speech on Parlia- 
mentary Beform - - - - -297 



422 



INDEX TO APPENDIX. 



MISCELLANEOUS POETICAL EXTRACTS. 







Page 


Progress of Poetry 


(Gray) 


299 


Charms of Hope 


(Campbell) - 


303 


Lady Heron's Song 


(Scott) 


306 


St. Peter's at Rome — the Vatican 


(Byron) 


307 


The Dying Christian to his Soul 


(Pope) 


310 


Saul - - - - 


(Byron) 


311 


Modern Greece 


(Byron) 


312 


A Poetess's Picture of a Country Life 


(J. Baillie) - 


314 


Bernardo del Carpio 


(Hemans) 


315 


The Voice of the Grave 


(Montgomery) 


318 


Ten Years Ago 


(A. A. Watts) 


321 


Hallowed Ground 


(Campbell) - 


323 


The Glove and the Lions 


(L. Hunt) - 


326 


Patience and Hope 


(Bulwer) 


328 


Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel 


(L. Hunt) - 


328 


Coxcombry in Conversation 


(Cowper) 


329 


Yesterday - 


(Tupper) - 


330 


A Poet's Parting Thought 


(Motherwell) 


335 



DIALOGUE AND DRAMATIC PIECES. 



Lochiers Warning 

Cato's Soliloquy on the Soul 

Antony's Apostrophe to Caesar's Body 

Scene frc^i " Juli?is Csesar " 

Shylock to Antonio 

Henry IV. 's Apostrophe to Sleep 

The Seven Ages 

Scene from the Tragedy of " Ion " 

Quarrel Scene from " Julius Cassar " 

Bobadil's Military Tactics 

Marc Antony's Oration 



(Campbell) - 


337 


(Addison) - 


340 


(Shaks.) 


341 


(Shaks.) - 


342 


(Shaks.) 


346 


(Shaks.) - 


347 


(Shaks.) 


348 


(Talfourd) -' 


349 


(Shaks.) - 


352 


(Ben Jonson) 


356 


(Shaks.) - 


357 



INDEX TO APPENDIX. 



423 



Page 

Four Scenes from " Richelieu " - - (Bulwer) - 360 

Scene from the Comedy of " Money" - (Bulwer) - 382 

Scene from the "Poor Gentleman" - (Colman) - 385 

Hamlet's Soliloquy - (Shaks.) - 389 

Night Soliloquy in Venice - - (Byron) - 390 

Trial-Scene from the " Merchant of Venice "( Shaks. ) - 392 

Scene from" Henry VIII." - - (Shaks.) - 401 

Cato's Speech over his dead Son - (Addison) - 404 



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